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~/G^J?*i.?X/& 





OUR YOUNG FOLKS. 



ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE 



BOYS AND GIRLS. 



EDITED BY 



J. T. Trowbridge and Lucy Larcom. 
vol. IX. 




^ 



BOSTON: 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 

1873. 



"sa^jp+i.?*/ 1 ? 





CONTENTS. 

Doing mis Best , , Jf j: Trvu+rufet . - * . 1 

Of A J. L A SC«<WL.-Hot;*l£ TMtfcTV YSARI ACO. 

" 11 Jaci:'> Fikit 1»av at 5cmxii_ 

** III. **$Tir HaK** IklAMVA AM* th» B«J Bcvs, 

{ Hit* */ttilf*£r* *«dtA**r *tk€* ttt*str*ti*m\ 

Santa Clavs (Poem) . . , Jn&. W* Edtiy .... 13 

"The Mother of all the Foxes 11 . . , C A* Siefktms i6 

{H iik .** //Suiir.ttKJH } 

The Ljttle Sac's Revenge ,♦,,♦# Tkewfora tS 

The Adventures of Little Martim Klo- 
ver * Mrs, A. Af. Dies* P * . . 33 

I U ttk sir /Umimtitmj) 

Christmas (Poem) # . . . Ross Terry 29 

Patset, Flash, 5c Co. »«+*««•• Etitabeth Kilham ... 31 

The Cradle (Poem) Ctiia Thaxter 37 

About Constellations . - George S. Janes , * . . 38 

A Dramatic Entertainment . Anna Baynton Averill . . 44 

A Sooty Thunderbolt • . • , tfnpuMisAed "Camping Qui" Safeties 47 
Our Young Contributors . * . * 49 

Itaua* Peasants* By IVm* S* $4 r *iik, 
Tiim Cahpy Fkouc* By Madft, 
fcl li-jcal Boxes. By T. M, StrrA. 

The Lvimxg Lamp 56 

Contain mp LOW in Amlnjkh. a F.inioircime, trranged by C- B Baktlett, Won! Square*, II- 
lu mated Nth uses, Geographical Rcbu>t*, Enigma*, Buried Heroea, Antwerp tic 

Our Letter Box ...,..,. , . .60 

Containing Letter* from Correipondetil* awl AHiwen, Ni>lice» of Books for children, etc. 



THE FEBRUARY NUMBER 

Will contain three chapters of "Doing his Best/ 1 presenting both the comical and tragi- 
cal sides of Jack's school life, and showing how he got into a tight ; a second am) con- 
cluding article on " Constellations T * ; *' What Madanv Tilbot saw^* — an excellent story 
by Mrs, Nellie Eyster, giving some curious reminiscences of a child's visit lo General 
Washington; one of C A- Stephens's funny stories, entitled "The Flying Betsey"; 
11 Pigs and Guinea Pigs,** by Mrs. S. B, C Samuels 1 and a store of other good things. 






TO SUBSCRIBERS. 



ty Every Inter on busmen relating to *"Ol-r Vrtuwc Folk* " ihooJd h»*e the name of ihe Sf arm is 
veil as the Post Office from which it MOMS 

Feraom ordering a change in direction of magiuiFie* S%SlM Hi wan gi*e hoth the fi/tt and the nrtv addrets 
ih>vu.. And D0tk« riL the desired change »hould be given before tttr Slk n( any month, b order thai 
mag.wifie*. for the fol lowing month may beir the proper direction. 

TERMS. —The pnee of Oin| VbOWO Fnt-ics i# Jt ico per year. No club terms- An extra copy gratia 
for every five »ub*cnptionfc Own Vovmg F'qlxs and Atlantic Montuj.y* f 5,00 per year. 

JAMES R- OSGOOD AND COMPANY, Publishers, 
Late Tick nor fc Fields, and Fields, Osr^ooD, & Co., 

124 Trtmortt Street, Boston* 







HOW STEP HEN "HELPED." 
Drawn by W. L. Shrppard.] [ See "Doing his Best, " Chap. III. 



OUR YOUNG FOLKS. 

An Illustrated Magazine 
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS, 



Vol. IX. 



JANUARY, 1873. 



No. I. 



DOING HIS BEST. 

CHAPTER I. 

A SCHOOL-HOUSE THIRTY YEARS AGO. 

EACON CHATFORD reached up to the 
old-fashioned clock case, opened it, and took 
out a key. 

" Here, boys ! " he cried to the youngsters 
in the kitchen, "which of you is going to 
unlock the school-house and build a good fire 
for the master this morning? I guess you 
are the lad, Phineas ! " 

" Let the master build his own fires," mut- 
tered Phineas. " Masters always have done 
it in our deestrict, and they will, for all me." 

•Til do it," said one of his companions, 
stepping forward. 

" I '11 go too, if Jack does ! " and Phineas 
sprang to get possession of the key. A scuf- 
fle ensued, for it was already in Jack's hand, 
and he was not inclined to give it up. 

"There, there, boys!" said the deacon, 

"it 's nothing you need quarrel about. Both 

go, if you want to. The school-house may 

need brushing up a little, for though it was 

left in good order when Annie's school closed, 

some roguish boys have been in at one of the windows since. I meant to 

have it seen to, but forgot all about it" 

"The day you 've looked forward to so long, Jack, has come at last," said 

Entered *^*~M*g to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Jambs R. Osgood & Co., in the Office 
of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
VOL. DC — HO. L I 




2 Doing his Best. [January, 

Mrs. Chatford, smiling. " I wish Phineas was half as eager for school as 
you are.' 1 

" Maybe I should n't care any more about it than he does, if I had had 
as much of it," said Jack. " I v ve a good deal of lost time to make up." 

M You 've been making it up pretty well since you came to live with us, 
I should think, by Annie's account She says you can do as hard sums 
as Phineas can, — and I know you can read as welL" 

" Ho ! " sneered Phineas, enviously ; " guess you don't know ! You 
have n't heard me read as well as I can ; and as for ciphering, — I can 
cipher him into the middle of next week ! I can cipher his legs off! " 

" I hope you won't try," replied Jack ; " I 've no legs to spare ! " 

" Phin 's great at bragging," said the elder son, Moses, good-naturedly. 
" But if he don't take care, before winter 's over he won't be in sight of 
Jack's coat-tails, in ciphering or anything else." 

Phin, not knowing what else to say, fell back upon a celebrated blunder 
of Jack's, asking derisively, — "Read the Bible much lately, Jack? Say! 
do ye remember Joseph's ' coat of many collars' ? O Jack ! " 

Jack paid no attention to this taunt ; but, hastily changing his coat and 
vest, combing his hair, and taking his books and slate under his arm, he 
started for the school-house, accompanied by Phin. 

" There comes old Lion ! " cried Phin. " Don't send him back ! I tell 
you ! le' 's make him lie down under our seat, and then, if the master goes 
to lick us, set him on ! "* 

But Jack did not seem to regard this lively idea as altogether practicable. 
Calling the dog to his side, he began to reason with him. 

" See here, old fellow ! you 're a mighty knowing dog, but you 're not 
quite up to the spelling-book ; do you think you are ? Did n't know we were 
going to school, did you ? 'T would make the children laugh and play, to 
see a dog at school. Don't be silly. Good by ! " 

"I believe he understands you!" said Phin. Indeed, the dog, after 
standing for some time and watching the boys as they went down the road, 
turned about and trotted homewards, like the reasonable dog he was. 

" I '11 be inside the school-house first," then said Phin. " Bet my knife 
against yours." 

" O, pshaw ! you know I can run faster than you can. I don't want to 
get your knife away from you," said Jack. 

But Phin insisted. " Come, you don't dare take me up ! " He spoke so 
confidently that Jack, never suspecting the treachery that might lurk behind 
the wager, accepted it ; and at the word " Now ! " from Phin, they started. 
Jack soon outstripped him ; and Phin, laughing, fell into a slow walk. 

" I '11 have a good fire by the time you get there ! " cried Jack from a dis- 
tance of several rods, and felt in his pocket for the key. Not finding it, he 
explored his other pockets. " Hullo, Phin ! have you seen the key ? " 

'* I saw you put it in your pocket ; and now, if you have lost it — " 

" You 've got it, you rogue ! " 

Phin laughed. "Now who'll be in the school-house first? O Jack 1 
What do you say now?" 



1873J Doing his Best. 3 

"I say you're a first-class pickpocket Never mind. I will win the 
bet now!" 

" You can't get in without the key ! " 

"See if I can't!" 

M Hold on ! " shouted Phin, as Jack began to run again. " I '11 go back 
home ! I 'U throw the key into the ditch, if you don't wait for me ! " 

Deaf to these boyish threats. Jack kept on running, and soon reached 
the old red brick school-house at the corners. It stood a little back from 
the two roads which there crossed each other; but there was no fence, 
no yard about it, only a strip of hard-trodden ground before the door, in 
the angle formed by the two streets. The roadside was the playground. 
Not a shade-tree was near. Behind the school-house was a field, enclosed 
by a zigzag fence. This came up to opposite corners of the house, the brick 
walls of which, completed the enclosure, and made a saving of rails. 

Jack tried the padlock on the door, and, finding that it could not be 
opened without a key, took a convenient rail from the fence, and put it up 
to one of the windows. These were placed high, to prevent school-children 
within from looking out, and rogues without from getting in. He climbed 
up the rail, and found that the window-fastenings had already been forced, 
as Mr. Chatford conjectured. He raised the sash, and, entering head fore- 
most, let himself down by his hands upon a broad desk or counter within. 

" O, that ain't fair ! " cried Phin, coming around the corner just in time 
to see the pair of legs disappear ; " breaking into a winder 1 I should think 
you 'd tried that once too often a'ready ! Got took up for it, any way. I 
bet I 'd be in the door first ; and here lam! I '11 take that knife, if you 
please," added Master Chatford, confidently putting out his hand as he 
came in through the entry. 

M You thought I was going to call on you for your knife, and said that 
to get the start of me," laughed Jack. " But I don't want your knife." 

" Do you know, that 's Squire Peternot's lot behind the school-house, and 
it 's his rail you took ? Better look out for the old man ; he 's got a grudge 
against you ! " said Phin. 

" I was just going to put the rail back and bring in my* books," said Jack. 

" Put 'em on this desk, and hurry, or some other fellers '11 be here. This 
is the boys' side, and these are the best seats in the house, — close to the 
door ; we can cut out first when school 's dismissed." 

Jack was not anxious to share that privilege with Phin ; indeed, he would 
have preferred not to sit with that young gentleman in school But Phin, 
notwithstanding his taunts and sneers, had a vast respect for Jack's courage 
and prowess, and determined to make him his champion that winter against 
the oppression of the big boys. So, while Jack was preparing to kindle a 
fire in the great oblong stove that stood on a broad brick hearth in the 
centre of the room, Phin placed the books on a shelf under the counter,, 
and, to establish still more securely their claim to the spot, set up his slate, 
on which he had written in a coarse, uneven hand, this notice to all whom 
it might concern : — 



Doing his Best. 



[January, 






eflatr- 



13 



The counter extended about three sides of the room, sloping from a 
level strip against the wall, and jutting over a bench of heavy plank. 
The strip was just wide enough to hold inkstands and books, while the 
counter was designed for a writing-desk. The narrow edge of it also served 
as the back to the pupils' seats when their faces were turned towards the 
centre of the room. When one wished to turn the other way, he lifted his 
legs, made a pivot of his spinal column, whirled about on the bench, to 
which his trousers assisted in giving a notable polish, dropped his lower 
extremities under the counter, and was supposed to be absorbed in his 
studies with his face towards the walL 

Before the bench was a narrow aisle, just wide enough for a file of pupils 
to pass through ; and still inside of that was a low bench for the smaller 
ones, extending, like the other, about three sides of the room, except where 
a passage was cut through it midway, for the use of those occupying the 
seats behind it. This low bench had a back to it, very convenient for the 
big boys behind to rest their feet upon, — too much so sometimes for the 
satisfaction of the little ones, who did not like the feeling of muddy boot- 
soles and square toes against their sides and shoulders. It was considered 
a point of discipline in those days not to permit the big boys to annoy the 
small ones in that' way. 

All this wood-work was of soft pine, which offered tempting facilities to 
youthful artists for practice with their jack-knives. There was hardly a 
square foot of bench or counter in which some ingenious blade had not 
hollowed out an imaginary canoe, or carved coarse images of tomahawks, 
horses, and canal-boats, — not to mention fox-and-geese boards, and many 
a hack and cut made in the mere effervescence of youthful spirits, without 
apparent artistic design. 

The foundations of the house having yielded a little, the end walls were 
diversified by two surprising cracks, running in irregular lines from top to 
bottom. These had been filled with mortar, making the red brickwork 
look as if severed by streaks of dingy-gray lightning ; and the house had 
been kept from tumbling by two iron rods passed crosswise through it and 
made fast outside the walls. The rods served also to encourage in the 



1873] Doing his Best. 5 

pupils the performance of gymnastic .feats ; and Phin told Jack that often, 
in the absence of the master, he had seen a dozen or twenty boys hanging 
and swinging from them like so many monkeys. 

The boys could at first discover very few marks of mischief done by the 
rogues who had forced the window-fastenings. The master's table was 
placed legs upward on the stove ; and on the blackboard was scrawled this 
imperfectly spelled and recklessly punctuated sentence : " Multiply cation, 
Is, vexasion devizon Is, as, Bad, the, rule of, 3 It, pusles Me, and, practis, 
Makes, Me, Mad." 

And now, Jack having succeeded in starting a fire in the stove, a more 
serious piece of mischief was discovered. The smoke poured out into the 
room, and, looking up, he saw that an elbow of the pipe was wanting. 
Search was made for it with tearful eyes in vain, until Phin suggested that 
it must be " up garret" 

Over one corner of the room was a scuttle, the lid of which was imper- 
fectly closed ; and Jack, convinced that the missing elbow was there, made a 
spring for it From the counter be swung himself upon the iron rod, and 
from the iron rod he managed to reach the opening above it 

" It 's dark as Egpyt up here ! " he cried, pushing back the lid, and thrust- 
ing his head into the hole. Getting his feet upon the rod, he stood up, 
with the upper half of his body in the black attic, and felt all about as far 
as his hands could reach. Soon Phin heard something rattle ; and then 
Jack cried, " Here it is ! catch it ! " 

Down came the elbow, and after it the old school-house broom. " Here 's 
something else," said Jack, — "I don't know what Look ! " 

"It's the old iron basin they keep water in on the stove," said Phin. 
" The shovel and poker must be up there too ; I don't see them anywhere." 

Shovel and poker were both found ; and at last Jack, with dusty coat 
and tumbled hair, dropped from the iron rod. 

" I never should have thought of looking up there for anything," he said. 

" Nor I," said Phin ; " but one noon two winters ago, some fellers threw 
the master's hat up there while he was talking with the girls in the entry. 
He did n't miss it till school was out at night, when all the scholars had 
gone home ; he looked and looked for it, and finally went to his boarding- 
place with his red silk handkerchief tied over his head. He came to the 
school-house next morning, with three big hickory whips on his shoulder, — 
and there was his bat on the table, just where he had left it ! It was all 
a mystery to him, and would have been to this day, I suppose, if he had n't 
licked the truth out of one of the fellers that looked guilty." 



CHAPTER II. 

jack's first day at school. 

While Phin was telling this story, Jack had placed the table under the 
opening in. the stove-pipe, got upon it, and restored the elbow. Just as he 



6 Doing his Best [January, 

was getting down, half a dozen boys with books and slates under their arms 
came stamping and shouting into the room. 

" Hullo ! " said one of them, making a rush for the seats Phin had chosen, 
M I guess not ! " 

u Not what, Lon Gannett ? " demanded Phin. 

" I guess Phin Chatford and Jack Hazard dorCt o-c-k-c-p-y this seat ! 
Me and Rant come early a purpose to git it, did n't we, Rant ! " 

" So did we. Come ! " screamed Phin, " let our books be ! Jack ! Jack ! 
don't let him ! " 

" Look here, young man ! " said Jack, " what right have you to that 
seat?" 

" I 've as much right to it as you have," muttered Lon ; — " who be you ? " 

"It seems I 'm a foolish sort of fellow," replied Jack. " I was so green 
as to believe Phin when he said there was honor among the boys here, 
and that if one laid claim to a seat by putting his books in it, the others 
would respect that claim. / don't care anything about the seat." 

" Nor I," said Lon. " Come, Rant, le* 's go over in the corner here." 

" Don't touch any of my things again ! " said Phin, threateningly, repla- 
cing his books ; " if you do you '11 ketch it ! " * 

" Yes, you feel perty smart now you 've got another boy to back ye ! " 
said Lon. " Say ! is it true the trustees have hired that Dinks feller, Peter- 
not's nephew, to teach the school ? He 's no great shakes ! " 

" He '11 make shakes of you 'fore the winter *s out," said Phin, inclined 
to defend his father's choice of a teacher. •' Anyhow, he 's the best that 
offered himself." 

More boys came in, with more stamping and shouting ; then the girls 
began to arrive ; and soon the school-room was pretty well filled with 
pupils, talking, laughing, drumming on the stove-pipe, throwing caps, open- 
ing and shutting the windows, playing tag, and making miscellaneous con- 
fusion. All at once there was a hush. A young man with a complacent 
smile and a good many pimples on his face, a large breastpin in his shirt 
and a heavy ruler in his hand, had entered unobserved. This was Mr. Byron 
Dinks, the new master. 

The boys seemed to feel a sudden need of fresh air, and rushed out to 
enjoy it. Gathering in a group a few rods from the school-house, the largest 
among them held a council. 

" See that big ruler ? " said one. " I should n't like to get it over my 
head ! " 

" Who 's afraid ? " said another. " I could twist that out of his hand 
quicker 'n lightnin', and lay it over his own head ! He 'd better not begin 
savage with us 1 " 

" You 'd better be careful how you begin with, him," said Moses Chatford, 
who had just arrived. " Boys can just as well have a pleasant school as a 
hard one, if they try. Where 's Jack ? " 

" He went over to Sellick's to wash his hands, after mending the stove- 
pipe," said Phin. " There he comes. Hullo 1 what ye laughing at, Jack ? " 



1 873.] Doing his Best. 7 

" At one of Sellick's stories," said Jack, coming up. " About the rods 
that hold the school-house together. He says the iron expands in hot 
weather, or when there 's a hot fire in the stove, and then the cracks open 
a little ; then the cold tightens them up again." 
" That 's a philosophical fact," said Moses. " Nothing to laugh at" 
u But hear the rest of it. He says he used to go to school in just such 
a school-house. A master taught there once who couldn't govern the 
school ; the children behaved so they drove him almost distracted, and he 
determined to quit, but he meant to have his revenge first So one cold 
day he shut all the windows and the outside door, and built up a rousing 
fire, and by heating the rods opened the cracks ; then he made all the chil- 
dren put their fingers in the cracks ; — they thought it fun ! But all of a 
sudden he let the cold air in, and all the fingers got pinched, and all the 
children were caught ! Then he took his hat and overcoat and nobody ever 
saw him again. The children screamed all together so loud they were 
heard all over town, and everybody came running, and every parent caught 
every child by the legs and pulled, but the cracks nipped so close not a 
finger could be pulled out; and as nobody understood the philosophical 
fact about expanding the rods by making a big fire, the house had to be 
taken to pieces to save the children ! But I can't tell the story as he did," 
added Jack. 

"One of Sellick's big lies," said Lon Gannett " Hullo! there's the 
ruler ! " 

" Rap — rap — rap-rap-rap ! " went the ruler on the side of the door-post ; 
at which signal the boys went straggling in to their seats. 

"A little less noise !" cried the new master, rapping sharply on the table. 
"Take your seats ! School has begun ! " 

The forenoon was mostly taken up in arranging classes. This was no 
easy task, as the school contained pupils of every age and degree, from the 
six-year-old learning his letters, up to the big girl and boy of seventeen and 
eighteen studying the " back part of the 'rithm'tic " and natural philosophy. 
To add to the teacher's perplexity, pupils who should have been in the 
same class had in many cases brought different books, which " their folks " 
expected them to use, in order to save the expense of new ones. 

"Who's brought g'ographies ? " said Mr. Byron Dinks. "Hush! we 
must have less noise ! " Rap, rap ! on the table. " All them that intend 
to study g'ography this winter will step out into the middle of the floor." 

About a dozen boys and girls of various ages obeyed this summons, and 
arranged themselves in a line, toeing a crack before the stove. Some were 
bright and alert, others were dull-looking, careless, and slouching. A few 
bad complete books and atlases, some had torn books, and some had no 
books at all. 

"Olney's, — that's right," said the master, beginning with one of the 
krge girls, " How far have you studied ? " 
M I 've been through it once," she replied with a simper. 



8 Doing his Best. [January, 

w You '11 go into the first class. — See here, you little shaver ! " — turning 
sharply on a very small boy behind him, — " if you don't keep still I '11 put 
you into the stove ! head first ! — Olney's, — all got Olney's ? What 's this ? 
You '11 have to get a new one ; you can't expect to get along with a piece 
of a book." 

u There 's only twenty-one pages of my book gone," said the pupil thus 
addressed. " Our folks said I need n't begin to study it till the others got 
up to page twenty-two, then I could pitch in." 

" You 've no book at all," said the master, passing on to another. 

" Ma said she guessed mabby I could look over with some other boy till 
she could get money to buy one," was the answer, with a banging head. 

" So, you 're coming to school, are ye ? " said Mr. Dinks, with a sarcastic 
smile, arriving at Jack. " I hope you will try to behave yourself." 

Jack made no reply, but turned fiery red at this insinuating remark. 

" * Moses Chatford,' " said Byron, reading the name written on the fly-leaf 
of Jack's geography. " You 're going to use his book, are you." 

" He don't study g'ography this winter," said Jack. 

" Well, how much have you ever studied it ? " 

" I never studied it at all in school." 

" What clid you study last winter ? " 

" I did n't go to school last winter." 

" Well, the winter before ? " 

" I did n't go to school then, either." 

" When did you go to school ? " demanded Mr. Dinks in a loud voice. 

Jack felt all eyes fixed upon him, while he stammered, — " Four winters 
ago." 

" How much have you ever been to school in your life ? " 

" About seven weeks." 

" How happens it you never went any more ? Where was ye brought up ? " 

"I never had much chance for schooling," said Jack, his spirit risip 
" and when I might have gone to school a little more, the master impod 
upon me because I was ignorant, and that discouraged me." 

Jack looked so straight into Byron's eyes as he said this, that that gen- 
tleman changed color in his turn. 

" Hush, I say !" as a titter ran round the room. " Can you read ? " 

" A little." 

" Let me hear you. Begin there." 

Jack was inclined to dash the book back into the master's face, when he 
saw the lesson that was given him. But checking the unruly impulse, he 
read : — " B, a, ba ; b, e, be ; b, i, bi ; b, o, bo ; b, u, bu ; b, y, by. C, a, 
ca ; c, e, ce ; c, i, ci ; c, o, co ; c, u, cu ; c, y, cy." 

" That will do," said the master, smiling, while the whole school laughed. 
" You read very well. Try this paragraph in your g'ography ; see if you 
can read that" 

Jack had been afraid that he would be afraid to read before large boys 
and girls who had been to school all their lives ; but now he feared nothing ; 



I873J 



Doing his Best. 



he felt angrily defiant of everybody. He took the book, and read the 
paragraph through very much as he would have sawed a stick of wood 
to order; acquitting himself so much better, on the whole, than was 
expected, that the laughing ceased, and the master looked rather cha- 
grined. 

u If you have never been to school, where have you learned so 
much ? " 

M At Mr. Chatford's, this last summer," said Jack. " Miss Felton gave 
me private lessons ; and Moses has helped me a good deal." 

" So have I," spoke up Phineas. " I 've showed him about his 
sums. 71 

" You can put him in almost any class, and he '11 do, he '11 come along," 
said Moses from his seat " He knows about as much as any boy of his 
age ; and he can learn as fast as anybody I ever saw." 

At this moment, the " little shaver " on the front seat, who had made a 
disturbance before, being at his mischief again, the master suddenly pounced 
upon him. 

" I told you I 'd put you in the stove ! " Clutching him by the arm with 
one hand, he threw open the stove-door with the other, exposing a bed of 
burning coals. " Now you go ! " 

The child screamed and struggled in a paroxysm of fear, while some of 
the other children laughed, knowing of course that the master would not 
execute so horrible a threat He seemed for a moment intent on stuffing 




— ■ ' 5* ** 
Snapping the Whip. (See page n.) 



io Doing his Best [January, 

the little fellow into the fire; then, relenting, he said, "Will you keep still, 
if I '11 let you go ? — What are you laughing at ? " turning to another little 
boy. 

" You would n't put him in ! you would n't dare to," said the latter, with 
a knowing smile. 

" I would n't, hey ? You '11 sing another tune when I 've burnt all the 
hair off your head ! " And, catching up the second boy, Byron swung him 
in the air, then brought him down head foremost to the very mouth of the 
stove. The youngster's wisdom forsook him at sight of the glowing coals, 
and he too began to struggle and scream with all his might Having estab- 
lished the discipline of the little ones in this humane and pleasant manner, 
the master dropped his second victim, with, a warning to take care how he 
behaved, or his hair would surely get a scorching, and then proceeded with 
the organization of his classes. 

The interruption had diverted attention from Jack, who was glad enough 
to sink again into obscurity. 



CHAPTER III. 

14 STEP HEN " TREADWELL AND THE BIG BOYS. 

Thus the winter school began. There were twenty-five scholars the first 
day, but this number was increased to about forty in the course of two or 
three weeks. Lastly some very large boys, who had been kept at home 
as long as they could work to any advantage on the farm, dropped in one 
by one, and took the lead in the out-door sports of the school, if not in the 
walks of learning. 

Jack was placed in the lower classes ; and there existed a good deal of 
prejudice against him at first on account of his early life on the canal He 
was no favorite with the master, for obvious reasons. Byron was evidently 
resolved to see no good in the lad who had had the famous quarrel with 
his uncle, Squire Peternot, and come off victorious. But Jack, though as 
fond of fun as any boy, bad a motive in going to school which was shared 
by few. The feeling that he must make up for lost time stimulated his in- 
dustry; and, being naturally quick to learn, he made rapid advancement, 
in spite of the master's contempt and neglect. 

Out of doors, he was from the first an interesting character. His cele- 
brated escape from Constable Sellick had established his reputation as a 
lad of spirit, whom it might not be safe to insult He was regarded with 
curiosity by the girls, and with admiration tempered by dislike on the part 
of boys who envied him the fame of that exploit He made no attempt to 
court the favor of any one, but minded his own business, and was always 
good-natured, modest, and independent The Chatford boys, the Welby 
boys, and a few others who knew him, accepted him as a companion and 
playfellow, and the heartiness with which he entered into all their games 
soon conquered the prejudice of the rest 



1873 J Doing his Best. 1 1 

A favorite sport, after the arrival of tbe big boys, was "snapping the 
whip." The " whip " was composed of as many boys as could be prevailed 
upon to clasp hands in a line, with the largest and strongest at one end, 
and the smallest at the other, for a " snapper." When all was ready, the 
leaders set out to run, each dragging the next in size after him ; then when 
the whole line was in rapid motion, it was brought up with a wide sweep 
and a short turn, which was sure to break it in some weak part, and send 
the little ones flying away, heels over head, into some burying snowdrift 
For the end of the u snapper " Step Hen Treadwell was a popular choice ; 
and it was always great fun to see the vast and ever-increasing strides taken 
by his very short legs as the whip came round, and then his spreading arms, 
bulging cheeks, and staring eyes, and flying hair, as he spun off into space, 
and rolled a helpless heap in the snow. 

Step'Hen was a comical little fellow, about twelve years old, whose droll 
figure (he was very short and " chunky "), clumsy and blundering ways, and 
woful want of spirit, had made him the butt of the school. His real name 
was not Step Hen, of course. It was Stephen. But once, having had the 
ill fortune to meet with it in his reading lesson, with his fatal facility for 
blundering he pronounced it just as it was spelled, and became from that 
day " Step Hen " to his delighted school-fellows. New-comers, thinking 
the nickname bore some humorous reference to his peculiar style of walking, 
adopted it at once ; and it bid fair to stick to him through life. 

Step Hen was often hurt, both in body and mind, by the rough usage of 
the big boys ; but he was so spiritless that a little coaxing or urging cquld 
nearly always prevail upon him to join again in their games, almost before 
his aches were over. 

One day some boys bent down a stout little hickory-tree which grew in 
a corner of the fence near the school-house ; and then cried, — " Step Hen ! 
Step Hen f Come and help us ! we can't hold it ! " 

Step Hen felt flattered at being called upon to render his. powerful assist- 
ance. He ran and caught hold of the bent-down top, throwing his whole 
weight upon it as if he had been a young giant Then all the other boys, 
yelling, " Hold on, Step Hen ! hold tight, Step Hen ! " suddenly let go. 
Up went the sapling, and up went Step Hen with it, twelve feet or more 
into the air, when he was flung off more violently than he was ever snapped 
from any whip. Whirling over and over, down he came sprawling upon all 
fours, in the midst of shrieks of laughter, which suddenly ceased when it 
was found that he lay perfectly still where he had fallen. A recent thaw 
had swept away the snow, and his head had struck the frozen ground. 

" Did n't hurt ye much, did it ? " said Lon Gannett, hastily running to him 
and lifting Jrim up. " Say ! guess ye ain't hurt, be ye ? " For the boys 
seemed to think that if they could convince him soon enough that he was 
uninjured, Step Hen would come up all right 

But Step Hen's head dropped helplessly on one side in a way frightfully 
suggestive of a broken neck. The boys, terrified, all started to run) just 
as Jack came rushing to the spot 



12 Doing his Best [January, 

" Water ! bring some water ! " cried Jack, as he raised poor Step Hen to 
a sitting posture, and supported the drooping head. 

" Water ! water ! " echoed the frightened boys. " That '11 bring him to," 
said one. " He ain't killed," said another. " Only stunted," said a third. 

Rant Hildreth and Tip Tarbox came running with the school-house pail, 
slopping its contents by the way. 

" Just a little ! On his face ! " said Jack. 

But the boys, in their excitement, — thinking perhaps that if a little water 
would be good a large quantity would be very good, — lifted the pail and 
dashed what was left of its contents over both Step Hen and Jack. 

Step Hen gasped, opened his eyes, and spluttered, — " Y-y-you let the 
tree up too quick ! " 

" We could n't hold it," said Lon. " It got the better of us. Hurt ? " 

"No, I ain't hart," said Step Hen, faintly. "Only, — I don't know,— 
my hand aches." 

" You should 'a' hild on," said Rant " We told ye to hold on. Then 
ye would n't 'a' fell." 

" Could n't hold on," said Step Hen. " Tree went up with such a jerk ! " 

" They 're fooling you ; they let it go on purpose," said Jack. " And it 's 
what I call a mean trick." 

" You do, hey ! " sneered Lon. 

" Yes 1 " exclaimed Jack, indignantly. " You big fellows are always im- 
posing on this little chap. Why can't ye let him alone ? " 

" We '11 take you, next time," said Lon, with a laugh ; at which his com- 
panions, who had looked seriously alarmed and abashed until now, rallied, 
and exclaimed, " Yes ! if he don't like it, we can take him ! " 

" No danger ! " replied Jack, hotly. " Bullies like you never touch a fellow 
who has spunk enough to defend himself." 

" Better look out what you say, or you '11 get a rap on the nose," said 
Lon, with a surly grin. " Guess I 've heard a canal-driver talk 'fore to-day ; 
and I 've sent a stun at the head of more 'n one of your sort of black- 
guards ! " 

" Come away, Jack," said Moses, who had arrived in time to hear the 
angry debate, without learning how it commenced. "You'll get into a 
scrape." 

"You wouldn't have me leave this boy, would you? They've nearly 
killed him, swinging him from that tree ; they thought he was dead. I 'm 
going to stand by him ; — I give 'em notice that I 'm going to stand by this 
little chap after this, and any one that lays hands on him will have to lay 
hands on me ! " 

And Jack, having put Step Hen's cap on and brushed the dirt from his 
back, helped him into the school-house and set him in a chair by the stove 
where his clothes would dry. Lon and his friends meanwhile stood in a 
group by the fence, talking in low tones; whittling the rails, kicking the 
frozen ground, and casting now and then evil glances towards the door. 

J. T. Trowbridge. 



1 873.] Santa Clans. 13 



SANTA CLAUS. 

Part I. 

•HP WAS a cold, wild night, and the ground was white 

-*■ With the frost-flowers of the snow ; 
And the stars looked down on a noisy town 

With its streets and halls aglow. 

It was Christmas-time, and the merry chime 

Of the evening bells rang clear 
On the frosty air, as if to declare 

'T was the happiest time of the year. 

For jolly Saint Nick has a clever trick 

Of filling his sleigh with toys, 
And swift as a dream, with his reindeer-team, 

He visits the girls and boys. 

Now I 've heard it said that he has a dread 

Of freezing his* turn-up nose ; 
Well, it may be so, for fierce winds blow 

And it 's cold where he often goes. 

But I think it a ruse, and a poor excuse 

For wanting to smoke his pipe; 
As every one knows that his pug nose glows, 

Red as a cherry full-ripe ! 

But he 's getting old, and we will not scold, 

If we don't quite fancy his ways, 
For we must depend on him as a friend, 

Or what would we do holidays ? 

When I was a boy, with what perfect joy 

I used to hear dear mother say, — 
" We must keep out of sight, Santa Claus comes to-night, 

And to-morrow will be Christmas day!" 

And I thought the old sprite, when he came in at night, 

Had to crawl down the chimney wide; 
And that all little boys who wanted his toys 

Must hang up their stockings inside. 



14 Santa Clams. (January, 

Welly one night I slept where the stockings were kept, 

All ready for Saint Nick to fill ; 
There I crept into bed and covered my head, 

Determined for once to keep still. 

The place for the fire was wider and higher 

Than places are made nowadays, 
And the fire felt good when the great logs of wood 

Were wrapped in a bright ruddy blaze ! 



Part II. 

That night the fire was buried deep 

Underneath the ashes, — 
Its flashing eyes were fast asleep 

Under dull gray lashes. 

So long I waited there to hear 
Those reindeer hoofs a drumming, 

That I began at last to fear 
The good saint was not coming. 

But suddenly I thought I heard 
Footsteps coming near me, — 

I never moved nor said a word, 
Fearful he might bear me ! 

The sound increased and louder was, 
That first was but a rustling, 

Till I felt sure that Santa Claus 
Was in the chimney bustling! 

I knew he 'd find the stockings there, 
But feared he 'd fill the wrong ones, 

For I had borrowed sister's pair, 
She wore such very long ones. 

And so I thought to take a peep 
While Santa Claus was near me, 

For when he thought I was asleep 
I knew he would not hear me. 

No doubt you think his merry looks 

You 'd recognize instanter ; 
You 've seen him in the picture-books 

With reindeer on a canter ! 



1 873.] Santa Claw. 15 

That I should know him anywhere, 

I felt profoundly certain, 
So cautiously, while he was there, 

I folded back the curtain. 

And then I looked for Santa Claus, 

Nor dreamed I 'd see another, — 
Now, who do you suppose it was ? 

Why, bless you, 't was my mother ! 

She came and knelt down by my bed 
When that sweet work was over, — 

"God make him kind and good," she said; 
"O'er him good angels hover." 

I never told her that I knew 

She was my Christmas giver, 
For soon she went, as so must you, 

Across the Silent River. 

And then a little heart was left 
Without her love to shield it, 
. Of almost everything bereft 
That happiness could yield it 

And many, many times I 've thought 

Of all the thousand others, 
Whose little hearts have vainly sought 

To find love like a mother's. 

And I have thought of what she said 

That night when she was kneeling 
Beside my little trundle-bed, 

Her tender love revealing; 

Then I have vowed I would be true, 

To all be kind and tender; — 
And so I hope at last with you 

A good account to render. 

To be a rich old Santa Claus 

To all it is not given, 
But we must all be good, because 

'T is that will make our heaven ! 

Jno. W. Eddy. 



16 u The Mother of all the Foxes." [January, 



"THE MOTHER OF ALL THE FOXES." 

AS foxes grow old they gradually narrow their range. Instead of running 
over a whole county, they come to confine their trips to a single town- 
ship, and finally to a single neighborhood. 

A young fox lately in my possession broke his chain one night, and, after 
a couple of farewell yaps under my chamber window, set off on his travels. 
As about four feet of the chain still remained attached to his collar, his 
track could easily be identified after snow came. A fortnight after he re- 
gained his liberty I heard of him in another town distant twelve miles. 
Three days later he was seen not half a mile away. After hanging about 
several days, he set off in another direction, when I again got news of him 
fifteen miles off But a fortnight after this he was captured, from the chain 
catching between two stones in a double wall, not more than two miles 
distant from his old kenneL He did n't like a return to stationary habits 
at all, and bit savagely at first It was not until he had been subjected to 
several sound cuffings that he was disposed to recognize the rights of his 
former master. 

Some years since, a neighboring hillside became the residence of a lady 
fox that seemed inclined to become a regular citizen, and perhaps " gain a 
residence." She could be very easily distinguished from, all others, not 
only on account of her superior size, but from her peculiar color. From 
the usual yellowish-red her fur had turned almost white ; for the same rea- 
son, I suppose, that a person's hair turns gray. 

For more than six years she lived steadily at the den in the hillside, and 
gave all the people of the neighborhood a chance to know something of 
her habits and of the manner in which she supplied her larder. Nothing 
was more common than to see the " old lady " trotting across the fields at 
nightfall, or, on going out early in the morning, to catch a glimpse of her 
turning the corner of the barn or shed. For, abandoning the shyness usual 
to foxes, this one seemed to get tamer on acquaintance, and to make a 
regular business of picking up old bones and refuse matter about the farm- 
houses, together with whatever poultry she could handily come upon. 

On account of depredations of this latter sort, the thievish old creature 
was repeatedly shot at, and, on several occasions, chased to her d£n. Two 
strenuous attempts were even made to unearth her ; once with smoke, and 
again with shovels. The shovelling party reported that, after digging in 
eight or nine feet, they came to where the hole led in between two large 
rocks which stopped their further progress. 

Traps were next resorted to ; but no skill in baiting or insidiousness in 
placing them proved of the least avail. This " mother of all the foxes," 
as the folks came to call her, was fully up to anything and everything of 
this sort. And so it came to be generally understood that the " old fox " 
was something to be accepted and endured, like droughts and freshets. 



i«73j 



" The Mother of all tkt Foxes: 



17 



As time passed, the venerable creature profited by this tacit acknowledg- 
ment of her providential character, to wax even bolder than before. Obedient 
to her traditions, my grandmother kept geese in those days. They had 
their aquatic accommodations in the shape of a small pond about half a 
dozen rods below the stable. For the space of three summers the dear 
old lady scarcely got a chance to take a single long breath in comfort for 
the chronic anxiety occasioned by "that fox." Her list of casualties — 
carefully and correctly kept, I have no doubt — footed up to seven geese 
and eleven goslings in these three summer campaigns. 




On the Watch. 

The fox would creep up, her butter-colored back just visible over the 
tops of the cradle knolls, sneak from stump to stump to get within ten yards 
unobserved, then there would be a sudden dash, a sharp squawk, followed 
by a great quacking and flapping and spattering, through which an expe- 
rienced observer might detect a mounted goose in the background, making 
off with long leaps in the direction of a certain tall pine stub on the opposite 
hillside. 

During the seventh spring of the fox's residence among us, she began to 
lay her neighbors under stiH heavier contribution. The flocks of sheep with 
their young lambs used to go out upon the bare knolls. Presently numbers 
of the lambkins began to be missed. Madame Reynard had developed a 
taste for juvenile mutton. Boys were set to watch. According to their 
story, the fox would trot confidently into the flock, select what she wanted, 
shoulder it and trot off, adroitly dodging all " bunts " and other like expres- 
sions of ovine disapprobation. 

This was intolerable. A neighborhood that had borne the loss of its 
chickens with a grin, and merely scowled when its Thanksgiving turkeys 

vol. ix. — no. 1. 2 



18 The LittU Sac's Revenge. [January, 

turned up among the missing, or scolded but moderately at the abduction 
of its geese, would n't stand this throttling of its lambs. 

I well remember the bright, crusty April morning when seven of us boys 
sallied out to storm the old fox in her lair. We had no need of hounds ; 
the den was well known to us all. We went prepared for a sweaty job, 
provided with crowbars, picks, and shovels. A glimpse of the great ma- 
rauder's head in the mouth of the hole told us that she was at home. 

We fell to work and soon cleared away the loose earth which had fallen 
in since the last party had carried on their excavations. The rocks which 
had stopped them were no myth. We were all the forenoon digging around 
and under one of them, which we mined and blew partially aside with the 
contents of our powder-horns. 

The explosion opened a large gap into the den behind the rocks. And 
before the smoke had fairly cleared, the fox leaped out, and, dodging our 
blows, got past the whole crowd of us. But one of the boys caught up a 
gun that had been laid in readiness, and by a lucky shot laid the old crea- 
ture low before she had got a hundred feet away. She was by far the 
largest fox I have ever seen ; though gaunt and poor in flesh, the bones 
were of very unusual size. Her teeth were almost entirely gone, — worn 
out ; and her fur, as stated above, bleached nearly to whiteness. 

But the den disclosed a greater surprise. On opening it we heard a queer 
nuzzling sound, and in a nice little nest in the farther corner espied fourteen 
cubs (pups would be a more correct name). They were not over a fortnight 
old, seemingly. Some of them had scarcely got their eyes open. That they 
all belonged to one family and to one litter there could be no doubt 

They were distributed around among us, and with three exceptions kept 
till their fur became good the next fall. 

Eight of them were red ; three were mixed grays. 

C. A. Stephens. 



THE LITTLE SACS REVENGK 

" T WISH you would come out to the stile, all hands ! " said Fay Lovejoy, 

J- thrusting her curly head through the vines that shaded the east porch, 
very early one summer morning. 

Hod and Tom Lovejoy and I forsook our graham gems and breakfast 
bacon, and the stile was occupied directly. 

" Look there ! " said Fay, pointing with her trembling little hand across 
the western prairie. 

" Great cornstalks ! " exclaimed Hod ; " if it was n't a disparagement to 
his Satanic Majesty, I should say he had started out upon a parade with a 
band of his most hideous imps and angels ! " 

" Pooh J " said Tom, with a greater show of practicality ; " it 's only old 
Mo-ko-ho-ko and a crowd of his bedizened Sacs going to town for a spree." 



1 873-] The Little Sacs Revenge. 19 

u What queer, horrid creatures ! I 'm going to hide," said Fay ; and she 
jumped quickly from the stile and hid herself in the tall grass below, where 
she might peep through the fence unseen by the approaching pageant. 

Soon the Indians came clattering up to us. Chief Mo-ko-ho-ko sported 
two ponies, upon one of which he rode, the other being loaded down with 
such trophies as could not be suspended from his own monstrous bulk. 
The tawdry finery of the squaws and braves flaunted brilliantly in the morn- 
ing sun. Numerous small Indians, mounted upon untamed mustangs, 
careered along like the attendant imps to " his Satanic Majesty." 

" There 's a pappoose squalling somewhere. Does anybody see it ? " Tom 
said, while the caravan was sweeping past the stile. 

** O, I see it ! I see it ! " said Fay, popping up her head, forgetful of her 
intended secrecy. " It 's in a bag hanging from the back of the woman on 
the speckled pony ! Poor tiny creature ! no wonder it cries, for that wicked 
little girl on the next pony is pinching its ears. O, why don't the mother 
squaw turn round and slap her good ? " cried Fay, indignantly. 

" There, she 's catching hazy now ! " laughed Tom, applaudingly. 

Turning suddenly, the mother squaw detected the mischievous little tor- 
mentor inflicting her persecuting pinches. With an angry outcry she raised 
her hand and gave the girl a blow that sent her reeling from her horse and 
laid her sprawling in the dust. The girl jumped quickly up, however, and, 
running forward, caught her pony by the tail and attempted to regain her 
place upon its back. The mother squaw, seeing her design, seized the 
pony by the mane and led it off on a gallop, leaving the little culprit badly 
in the lurch. Chief Mo-ko-ho-ko for once was moved to follow the example 
of a squaw, and the whole company went flying over the prairie. The girl 
trudged after with the lazy stoicism so natural to the Indian race. 

" Ef that thar brat don't hev ter tramp it all ther way ter Lawrence, thirty 
mile or more, I '11 never bet on an Injin's dander agin, not I," said Jim 
Graft, the prairie sod-breaker, who was starting off to his work mounted 
on the cushioned seat of his chariot-plough drawn by two spans of premium 
horses. 

" Rather an imposing spectacle they present The 'glory of the poor 
Indian ' has n't entirely departed, after all," said Hod, as we returned to the 
breakfast-table. 

" Just wait till they come back this way in three or four days," said Tom. 
u They '11 be drunk and dirty enough. AH their toggery will have been 
4 swap-peed ' for whiskey, and their war-paint will have been washed off in the 
gutter." 

Tom had had the benefit of several weeks' experience in Kansas, having 
come out from St Louis early in May. Hod and Fay had arrived only the 
day before ; hence the Sac Indians were a curiosity to them. 

Several days passed, during which Fay kept up a constant watch for the 
return of the Indians. She began to fear, at length, lest they had made a 
final emigration to some far-off hunting-ground. 

u Never fret, fairy lass," said Jim. " Thev '11 fetch up in good time, drunk 



20 The Little Sods Revenge [January, 

as fiddlers and naked as circus-tumblers. I 've seen Injuns ride inter town 
like princes and ride out like paupers." 

One afternoon Fay sat upon the stile, beneath the shade of two spreading' 
locusts, busily engaged in transforming Dinah, her monstrous negro doll, 
into an Indian squaw. She had bestuck her with feathers, streaked her 
ebony face with scarlet paint, and tricked her out in various ways, producing 
a comical effect Perhaps an hour had elapsed, when Fay started suddenly, 
poised herself erect, and, shading her eyes with her hand, stood gazing 
intently over the eastern prairie. Next, seizing Dinah, she jumped from 
the stile and hid herself in the grass. I sat in the house by the window, 
watching in a state of curious expectancy. Pretty soon a small rider appeared 
in sight, leading by the mane a speckled pony. From the back of the pony 
was suspended a saddle-bag, and from the mouth of the bag protruded a 
baby's head. I readily recognized the little Indian girl and the crying 
pappoose before described. The girl passed the house in a stealthy manner, 
placing her hand over the baby's mouth for the purpose of preventing any 
possible outcry. The entrance to a fifty-acre cornfield lay not many rods 
away. This the girl approached, and, halting, looked about on every side 
to see if she was seen by any one. Fay's blue eyes among the bending 
grasses, and my own behind the vine-wreathed window, were hidden even 
from the piercing gaze of the little Indian maiden. Dismounting, she un- 
strapped the saddle-bag from the back of the speckled pony and threw it 
over her own shoulders, after which she dismissed the ponies by giving each 
a vigorous kick with her moccasined foot ; and then, scaling the fence, she 
disappeared in the cornfield. Fay came into the house breathless with 
excitement, and exclaimed, — " The little Indian girl has stolen the pappoose 
and run away with the speckled pony, just to spite the mother squaw 1 " 

"Very likely," I replied. 

14 But what 's to be done about it ? The baby ought be rescued immediately." 

" We can't do anything," said I. * 'T would be a hopeless task to attempt 
lo catch a little Indian in a fifty-acre cornfield." 

Fay's face grew very solemn. Looking up to me with troubled eyes, she 
said, impressively, — " But what if the wicked Indian girl should kill the poor 
little pappoose and bury it in the cornfield ? " 

The question startled me ; but I sought to quiet Fay's forebodings the 
best I could. She said no more upon the subject, but wandered about 
during the rest of the afternoon like a perturbed little mortal upon whose 
conscience rested the murder of an innocent babe. At sunset Hod and 
Tom came home from a chicken-hunt upon which they had been absent all 
day. Tom was the first to speak. 

"What think we found down in yon ravine, where the redbud bushes 
grow, and the spring empties into the basin dug in the rock ? " 

" O, the little Indian baby 1 It was n't drowned in the spring, was it ? " 
inquired Fay with feverish anxiety. 

" No, but it was hanging from a tree," was Tom's reply. 

Fay groaned aloud. M Was it quitt dead ? " she questioned in an agitated 
voice. 



1 873.] Tie Little Satfs Revenge. 21 

• 
"Bless you, no! 'twas kicking and squalling as if it hadn't the least 
intention of * pegging out,' " said Tom, with a mysterious laugh. 
u Do gratify our curiosity ! " I interposed. 

u Here are the facts of the case," said Hod ; " the girl had hung the bag 
containing the pappoose upon the limb of a tree, and seemed to be making 
preparations to bivouac down there for the night Tom and I hid in the 
grass, and saw her feed the baby. What do you think she gave it to suck ? 
Green corn mashed soft between two stones, and tied up in a rag torn from 
the baby's petticoat" 

a How funny and nice I I don't believe she means to hurt the dear little 
pappoose. I want to go right down and watch her," cried Fay, delightedly. 

" Better wait till after the moon rises," 1 said. " You may scare her off, 
if you go by daylight They 're wild as phantoms, these Indian girls." 

After moonrise that evening, we all went out past the cornfield, and, 
crossing the meadow beyond, walked stealthily through the tall damp grass 
that headed the ravine. We stopped behind a knoll directly above the 
spring, and, peering into the moonlit ravine, discovered the objects of our 
curiosity. The saddle-bag still hung upon the bough of a low drooping 
tree, and the Indian girl was seated on the ground beneath, slowly swaying 
it to and fro and crooning a low harsh monotone, which, doubtless, was a 
melodious lullaby in the ears of the sleepy little pappoose. 

"What a lovely sight 1 " said Fay, in a soft, delighted whisper. " She 's 
tender with the little thing, for all she 's stolen it away to spite its mother." 

We went back to the house with minds at rest concerning the safety of 
the pappoose. Almost before sunrise next morning our little watch-woman, 
Fay, broke in upon our slumbers by exclaiming, " The yard is full of Indian 
boys ! " 

Hod and Tom and I dressed in haste, and went below. As we stepped 
into the yard, some half a dozen small Indians came springing up the walk 
to meet us, making eager* demonstrations, each seemingly intent on being 
the first to oner a communication. 

11 Sac-ee t Sac-ee f " said several of the boys at once, in an inquiring tone. 

" They 're after the girl Is it best to put them on her track ? ". said Hod. 

"Wait a moment," said Fay; and she disappeared within the house. 
Immediately she returned, bringing with her a travelling-sachel, in which 
was seated Dinah still in her Indian disguise. Throwing the sachel over 
her shoulder, Fay inquired, " Sac-ee f Sac-ee t " 

The boys crowded about her with affirmative signs and nods, all answer- 
ing at once, " Sac-ee / Sac-ee / " 

" Yes, it 's the girl and the pappoose they 're after, sure enough. Let 's 
direct them to the cornfield, and see if they will nose them out," said Tom. 

Accordingly, we all pointed to the cornfield. The young Indians bounded 
off with the keenness of a pack of hounds starting upon the track of a hare. 

"See, they're searching for the girl's tracks," said Tom, as the boys 
ran back and forth along the road, jostling and crowding each other, and 
bending forward in a watchful attitude. They gained the entrance to the 



22 The Little Sac's Revenge. [January, 

• 
field, then, turning, waved their hands inquiringly at us. We gave them the 
signal to proceed. They scudded over the fence, and were quickly lost to 
view among the corn. 

" Now, then, let 's cut around and watch the fun ! " said Tom ; and we 
started at once for the ravine. When we arrived at the knoll from which 
we had made our observations the night before, we found that the girl had 
disappeared, leaving the pappoose still rocking in its airy cradle and sleep- 
ing soundly, fanned by the soft south-wind that swept refreshingly through 
the ravine. 

" She 's taken an alarm, no doubt, and left the pappoose to be picked up 
by chance," said Hod. 

" Or fed by the crows. I 've read about such things," said Fay. 

" No signs of the hunters yet ! Is it possible they 're going to miss ? No, 
yonder comes one of them ; he '11 be the lucky toad ! " Tom exclaimed, as 
the smallest of the Indian boys sprang suddenly out of the corn and trotted 
down the meadow toward the lower end of the ravine. 

" He 's going wrong. I '11 whistle and bring him round," said Hod. 

" No, let 's have fair play," said Tom. " I '11 wager the one that bags 
the game will get an extra pound of bacon or a horn of whiskey for his 
reward. Jolly ! there come the rest ; now we '11 see hot work ! " 

Directly after the first little Indian had entered the' ravine, the rest of his 
comrades emerged from the corn almost at the same time, although from 
different directions. They assembled in a group at the edge of the meadow, 
and appeared to take counsel together as to the next movement to be made. 
While they were halting there, it chanced that the pappoose awoke and 
began a low, fretful murmur, which gradually increased until it swelled into 
a loud, continuous cry. This reached the boys' ears, and started them again 
upon the chase. They bounded across the meadow, keeping even pace with 
each other ; but their companion in the ravine had heard the cry, and gained 
the spot before them. With a shrill, triumphant whoop he announced the 
victory his own, and secured the saddle-bag just as his comrades came 
springing down the opposite bank of the ravine. The baffled hunters mani- 
fested their disappointment in many ways, but the victorious one was un- 
molested, as their sense of Indian honor did not allow them to rob him of 
his booty. 

When we reached the house the ponies, which had been left in the road, 
had disappeared, by which we knew that the boys had arrived before us, and 
taken their departure with the pappoose. 

Late in the afternoon the whole company of Indians came along. Tom's 
prophecy had proved correct. I have not space to describe their dilapidated 
condition. The victorious little hunter was nearly invisible, so thickly sur- 
rounded was he by a cloud of smoke issuing from the stem of a monstrous 
pipe that ornamented his mouth. The mother squaw was riding behind 
another Indian woman, with her rescued pappoose upon her back. She 
looked wild and haggard, whether from anxiety or dissipation we could not 

telL 

Theodora. 



1 373.] The Adventures of Little Martin Klover. 



33 



THE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE MARTIN KLOVER 



IT seems that little Martin Klover was sent of an errand quite early in 
the morning, and that he stopped to play by the way, and played half 
the forenoon. Meanwhile, the whole family decided to go to the woods 
on a picnic, and they could not wait for Martin, because it was so bad wait- 
ing with a baby with its things on and crying to go. But Mrs. Klover left 
word with a neighbor which road he must take to follow them, and also 
where he would find his second-best trousers. As it happened, however, 
Martin came home without being seen by the neighbor, and could not im- 
agine what had become of everybody. He shouted, he rattled the chairs, 
went down cellar, through all the chambers, even up the garret stairs, but 
not a soul could he find. 

Now in the garret there was an old-fashioned hair trunk, and in that hair 
trunk was an old-fashioned suit of clothes which had belonged to Mr. 




Martin "drewed up." 



24 The Advmture* tf lit& Martin Klwer. [Japjiary, 

Klover's father, Martin's grandfather. Grandfather Klover came over from 
Germany with his family when Mr. Klover was a small boy. That suit of 
clones was his wedding suit. It consisted of a cocked hat, a long-skirted 
coat, a figured waistcoat, a standing collar, breeches, stockings, and buckled 
shoes, and it was the cause of all Martin's bad luck that day. For, in pok- 
ing after the family, he opened that hair trunk, and no sooner saw those 
clothes than he made up his mind to put them on and have some fun ; and 
fun he had, and plenty of it, as will be seen presently. 

It took a long time to "dress up." The collar would twist in spite of 
him, and then the coat-skirts got under his feet, and what to do with those 
was the question. At last he took one on each arm, and in that manner 
went down into the street, where he marched along, head thrown back, 
toes turned out, making quite a show with his buckled shoes and his 
cocked-up hat 1 

The street boys came running to see, and one little chap picked up an 
old smoking-cap which had dropped from the coat pocket, put it on his 




Martin astouishes the Geese. 



*«73j Th * Adventures qf Little Martin Kfover. 



*5 



own head, then rolled up his trousers and went marching behind, with a 
stick over his shoulder. As they passed along more boys came, and more, 
and more, and more, all shouting, laughing, hurrahing ; and by and by some 
of them began to throw stones. 

The boys that threw stones came out of a factory. Martin was by this 
time about half a mile from home. At last one stone went smash through 
a window. Then the man came rushing out in his shirt-sleeves, and bawled 
away at them, " Who threw that stone ? I want to know who threw that 
stone ! " 

The boys started to run. Some kept in the road, some jumped over into 
the field. Martin was one that jumped over. He made for the brook, 
thinking to cross on the stepping-stones. But when he heard the man 
coming behind, he let go the coat-skirts to run faster, because he thought 
one of the boys called out, " There he comes with a horse-whip ! " But the 
clothes would not let him run. His knees trembled, and just as he reached 
the bank one of those skirts flapped between his legs, then he stepped on 
it, and then — perhaps on account of his knees trembling — he stumbled, 
and then — went down. 

But there 's worse to tell. When he went down it was not into grass. 
O no, it was something very different from grass. For in falling he pitched 




Martin astonishes the Frogs. 



26 



The Adventures of Little Martin Klover. [January, 



head foremost into the very brook itself And it is said that his screams 
were enough to frighten — well, enough to frighten geese, or little fishes, or 
frogs, mud- turtles, polliwogs, — anything. Geese are mentioned in particu- 
lar, because a flock of them, swimming near by, flew off in a hurry, squawk- 
ing as loud as they could squawk, and never really had their senses after- 
ward. 

Martin rolled over, picked himself up, and the next thing was to pick his 
hat up. His hat floated away on a voyage by itself. Many times he was 
just going to catch hold of it, and each time it slipped from under his fin- 
gers. The frogs made fun of him, and the boys hooted, calling out, " A 
race ! A race ! Hurrah ! " Martin found it hard work, wading with so 
many clothes on, and was just going to give up when help came quite unex- 
pectedly. A lively little puff of wind happened along, in want of something 
to do, and it just took hold of the cocked hat and puffed it ashore in a 
twinkling. O, but that was a jolly young puff of wind ! To be sure it had 
been having a good time with the flowers all the morning. 

Martin picked up his hat, and sat down by the Shore on a log. This was 




The Pigs astonish Martin. 



1 873-] The Adventures of Little Martin Klover. 



*7 



a little way from the mill. And presently there came along a curious-look- 
ing old man. He was ragged, and he had a long nose, and he had a long 
coat with a cape to it, and a flapping-brimmed hat, and a whip. Martin 
thought it might be the roan whose square of glass was broken, so he lay 
down behind the log, to keep out of sight, peeping through the coarse 
grass to see what the old man was doing. He was not doing much, — only 
lighting his pipe. After that he took some pins off his coat-sleeve, and 
pinned up the rim of his hat ; then walked off smoking his pipe. He was 
nobody to be afraid of. Martin had better have been looking the other way. 
If he had been looking the other way, he would have seen coming toward 
him a dozen or twenty animals of a kind not famous for beauty or for 
good behavior. Their name, spelt backward, would read, s-g-i-p ; forward, 
p-i-g-s. 

Animals of this kind have not very genteel manners, but no doubt they 
mean welL Their voices are bad, but perhaps they try to say with them 
what the birds do when they sing. Perhaps they would a great deal rather 




Martin's Mother 



*8 



The Adventures of Little Martin Khver. [January, 



stag it, only they don't know how. Perhaps when the mother pig grunts to 
her little ones, she says, " Peshious ittle keeters 1 " and perhaps they under- 
stand it so ; who knows ? And, speaking of looks, it is said that even the 
ugliest animal has some charm, and no one can deny that a pig's tail curls 
naturally. 

But little Martin Klover, when he saw that company of curly-tails coming, 
did not stop to think of good looks or good manners. He hurried with all 
his might to jump and to run. Though, to be sure, that is not very good 
manners, — to run away when company is coming to see you ! It is always 
proper to rise, however. Martin tried to, but was not quite quick enough, 
on account of having on so many clothes, and the clothes being wet Mean- 
while, the company came forward at full gallop, being driven on by the boys. 
Some stopped to smell what that was sprawling and squalling in the mud, 
and, smelling it was nothing but a boy, walked over him and went their way. 

By this time Martin had had fun enough for one day. He got up, poked 
his hair out of his eyes, and walked, as well as he could, toward home, the 




Comfort. 



1 873-] Christmas. 29 

boys chasing behind, hurrahing, and calling oat, " Martin Klover fell down 
all over ! " " And muddied his clothes I " " And let a pig smell of his 
nose!" 

When Martin Klover reached home, it was almost dark. The family had 
arrived some time before. As soon as his mother saw him, she lifted up 
both her hands, and did n't know what to say. She never saw such a look- 
ing boy. He looked like a drowned boy, and he shivered all over. 

Martin had only bare bread for his supper that night, and was left to eat 
it in a room by himself, that he might think of the mischief he had done. 
And that he might think the harder, he was placed upon a hard bench. His 
mother left him three thick slices, but his grandma, fearing he would starve 
on three thick slices, tucked inside the door a whole baker's loaf. Martin 
began with the loaf, then went on with the three thick slices. The cat 
jumped in at the window, and he was very glad of her company. " Good 
little pussy ! " he sobbed. " Good little pussy ! Pussy loves Martin, don't 
she?" 
And pussy mewed that she did. 

Mrs. A. Af. Diaz. 



CHRISTMAS. 

HERE comes old Father Christmas, 
With sound of fife and drums ; 
With mistletoe about his brows, 

So merrily he comes ! 
His arms are full of all good cheer, 

His face with laughter glows ; 
He shines like any household fire 

Amid the cruel snows. 
He is the old folks' Christmas ; 

He warms their hearts like wine, 
He thaws their winter into spring, 

And makes their faces shine. 
Hurrah for Father Christmas ! 

Ring all the merry bells! 
And bring the grandsires all around 

To hear the tale he tells. 

Here comes the Christmas angel, 

So gentle and' so calm, 
As softly as the falling flakes 

He comes with flute and psalm. 



30 Christmas. (January, 

All in a cloud of glory, 

As once upon the plain 
To shepherd boys in Jewry, 

He brings good news again. 
He is the young folks' Christmas; 

He makes their eyes grow bright 
With words of hope and tender thought, 

And visions of delight 
Hail to the Christmas angel! 

All peace on earth he brings ; 
He gathers all the youths and maids 

Beneath his shining wings. 

Here comes the little Christ-child, 

All innocence and joy, 
And bearing gifts in either hand 

For every girl and boy. 
He tells the tender story 

About the Holy Maid, 
And Jesus in the manger 

Before the oxen laid. 
Like any little winter bird 

He sings this sweetest song, 
Till all the cherubs in the sky 

To hear his carol throng. 
He is the children's Christmas ; 

They come without a call 
To gather round the gracious child, 

Who bringeth joy to all. 

B'lt who shall bring their Christmas, 
r Who wrestle still with life? 

Not grands ires, youths, nor little folks, 

But they who wage the strife; 
The fathers and the mothers 

Who fight for homes and bread, 
Who watch and ward the living, 

And bury all the dead. 
Ah ! by their side at Christmas-tide 

The Lord of Christmas stands ; 
He smooths the furrows from their brows 

With strong and tender hands: 
"I take my Christmas gift," he saith, 

" From thee, tired soul, and thee ; 
Who giveth to my little ones, 

Gives also unto me ! " 

Rose Terry. 



I873-] Pats?, Flash, & Co. 31 



PATSEY, FLASH, & CO. 

THE — th Michigan Cavalry had gone into winter quarters on the "sacred 
soil " of Virginia, within a stone's-throw of the Potomac. Very neat 
and pleasant the camp looked ; for the white tents were fresh and new, and 
the broad streets between the company lines were as clean as the gravelled 
walks of a garden. 

It was a bright, sunny morning in November, and Patsey Rooney, sitting 
on an inverted pail, busily polishing Sergeant Farnsworth's sabre, and sing- 
ing the favorite camp-song, 

M Yon aha' n't bare any of my cold beana, 
When you/ cold beans ace gone," 

looked as bright and sunny as the day. 

Patsey was Irish, an orphan, and eleven years old. This was all that be 
knew about himself. The spring that the war broke out he left the Orphan 
Asylum in New York, where he had lived ever since he could remember, 
and fascinated, boy-like, with the idea of a military life, smuggled himself 
through to Washington among the baggage of an Irish regiment But the 
men were rough, and boys are decidedly in the way in the army, and poor 
little Patsey found it very different from the "good time" he had expected. 
In feet, he was so badly treated that the Michigan men, when they came 
to water their horses at a stream that separated the two camps, noticed it ; 
and one day, when a great savage fellow kicked the boy off the bank into 
the middle of the stream, Sergeant Farnsworth drew him out on the other 
side, and Patsey's home since then had been his protector's tent 

He had finished up the "cold beans," and was beginning the second 
verse, *• You sha' n't have any of my hard tack," when Sergeant Farnsworth 
came up. 

" Patsey," said he, " give my horse an extra feed to-^ay, for the company 
is ordered out on a scout to-night, and he will have some hard work 
before he gets back." 

" An' is it long gone yez '11 be ? " asked Patsey. 

** Not very long. We shall probably be back by daylight." 

In less than five minutes Patsey was in the hospital, beside Private Ben- 
nett's cot, coaxing with all the Irish blarney at his command. "Shure, 
Misther Bennett, an' yez '11 let me take the horse ? It 's the best o' care 
I 'H take av him, an' I '11 do anything in the wurruld that yez '11 ax me." 

u But suppose anything should happen to you, Patsey." 

u An' what ud be afther happen in' to me more than to the rest av 'em ? 
Lind him to me fhis wan time, an' I '11 niver ax yez again." 

The determined boy was more than a match for the sick man ; and Patsey 
ran out of the hospital with a satisfied expression upon his little freckled 
face, which said that he had gained his point 

It was quite dark when the scouting party rode out of the camp, and no 



$t Patsy, Flash, & Co. [January, 

one noticed in the gloom that the rider of the last horse was considerably 
under the regulation size for the United States military service. 

Tramp, tramp, they went along the broad turnpike that leads out from 
Alexandria ; then tramp, tramp, down a little cross-road towards Bull Run. 
Their object was to find out whether the enemy were making any move- 
ments which would indicate an intention to attack Washington. It was a 
difficult and dangerous service, and the bravest and best had been selected 
for it On and on went the steady tramp, and when it paused the party 
was within rifle-range of the enemy's pickets. A little cautious reconnoi- 
tering in different directions by twos and threes gave the information they 
sought, and the order was given to return. That part of the road over 
which they had last come was cut through a bank. On either side rose a 
wall of earth, thickly covered on the top with trees and underbrush. It was 
the very place for a surprise. A regiment in this defile would be completely 
at the mercy of a dozen sharpshooters posted among the trees above. A 
second time the party passed safely through ; then paused to take account 
of their men. One was missing. "It's Lorton," said a voice; "and he 
must be in the cut, for I spoke to him there, and he answered me." 

" Who will go back to look for him ? " asked the officer in command. 

" I will. 9 ' And Sergeant Farnsworth rode to the front. 

" I will." And a second horse drew up beside the sergeant's. 

" That will do," said the officer ; " it is better not to send too many, and 
if you need help you can have it in a moment" 

The two volunteers disappeared in the thick darkness of the defile. They 
spoke not a word, but moved cautiously forward, until half-way through, 
when the impatient pawing of a horse arrested them. 

" Are you there, Lorton ? " asked the sergeant 

44 Yes. I was afraid you had all gone on and left me." 

" No, the boys are waiting ahead. We missed you just after we got out 
of the cut. What is the matter ? " 

" A sort of dizziness came over me ; then my horse stumbled, and I fell 
over his head, and that stunned me. I was just trying to mount again. 
There, I 'm up now, and we M better get out of this as quick as we can, for 
I heard sounds above on the bank, and I guess the rebs are out after us." 

With the last word there was a flash, then several quick, sharp reports 
from the top of the bank, and a shower of bullets fell among the stones in 
the road, just ahead of where the three stood. 

" We sha' n't get out of this now," said Lorton. 

" No, this is the end for us, I think," said the sergeant They spoke low, 
but their voices were firm, like the brave men they were. The third one 
was silent. • 

They dared not quicken their pace, for fear the horses should stumble 
on the stony, uneven road ; and were compelled to creep along, while death 
hung over them at every step. Volley after volley was fired from the bank, 
and answered by the Michigan men ahead on the road, who succeeded in 
diverting to themselves the attention of the attacking party. At last the 




King Richard wounded. 




The Storming of Chains, 
From the New Illustrated Poem of " Treasure Trove." 



1873-1 Patsey, Flash, & Co. 33 

three stood once more among their comrades, and the officer in command 
inquired, " Anybody hurt ? " 

" All right," said Sergeant Farnsworth. 

" All right," said Lorton ; but the third did not speak. 

The sergeant put out his hand to his unknown companion, and asked, 
" Are you hurt, comrade ? " 

" Shure, an' it 's not much, sergeant ; it 's only me arrum." 

Sergeant Farnsworth was dumb for a moment with astonishment, then 
said, u Is this you, Patsey ? " 

"Yis, sir." 

" How did you come here ? " 

"Don't be mad wid me, sergeant; I wanted to coom that bad that I 
could n't rest aisy widout it." 

" But what made you go back into that place ? " 

" Shure, an' I could n't see yez go widout me." 

There was no time for further talk. The troop hastened on, and reached 
the camp with the first glimmer of dawn ; and none too soon for Patsey. 
A bullet had literally ploughed up his arm from wrist to elbow ; and he was 
growing weak and faint from loss of blood. He was at once sent to the 
surgeon to be cared for; but, after having his wound dressed, he utterly 
refused to stay in the hospital ; and with his arm in a sling went back to the 
sergeant's tent 

" Gear grit to the backbone," the Michigan men said Patsey was, when 
they heard that he had been " under fire " and never showed a sign of fear ; 
and he became quite a hero in the regiment. 

The colonel's wife was spending the winter in camp, and, hearing of 
Patsey's adventure, she expressed a wish to see him. He went to the 
colonel's quarters, and, with a bob of his head and a scrape of his foot, 
intended for a salute, stood before the lady. She questioned him about 
himself, and the tears came into her eyes when she learned that he was 
homeless and friendless. " Do you know how to read ? " she asked at last. 

" Jist a thrifle, ma'am. They tached us in the 'sylum, an' I kin spell a 
bit out o' the primer." 

" If you have to make your own way in the world," said the lady, "it will 
help you very much to know how to read and write. If you will come to 
me for an hour or two each day while I am here, I will teach you. Will 
you like that ? " 

" Indade, an' I will, ma'am ; an' I *m thankful to ye." 

So every day Patsey wiped his face with his jacket-sleeve, washed his 
hands in a convenient puddle, dried them on his hair, which got nicely 
4< slicked down " during the operation, and went to his lesson, evidently 
under the impression that he had made a very elaborate toilet. 

The winter passed rapidly away. The suns and winds of March dried 

the roads so that it was once more possible for troops to move, and the 

regiment received " marching orders." A day came when Patsey said his 

last lesson. When it was finished his teacher said, " You have been a good 

vol. ix. — no. l 3 



34 Patsey, Flash, & Co. (January, 

boy, Patsey. You have learned very fast, and I am greatly pleased with 
you. Now I am going to give you a present which I think you will like. 
I cannot take Flash with me, and I give him to you." 

Flash was a mite of a black-and-tan terrier, whose name described him 
exactly ; for he had a way of darting round more like a fire-fly than a dog. 
Patsey turned pale and red with surprise and joy, and could scarcely gasp 
out, " Thank 'ee, ma'am." In all his life before he had never had anything 
that he could call his own ; and his warm Irish heart opened wide to take 
in his new pet. He unbuttoned his flannel army shirt and put the dog 
inside ; and Flash nestled down as if he thought this was just the way that 
dogs ought to be carried ; then, putting out his little red tongue, licked his 
new owner's face, to signify his entire satisfaction at the change. 

"Our rigimint," as Patsey called it, was with that portion of the army 
that was sent to the Peninsula ; and all through the weary, toilsome days 
of that terrible Peninsula campaign the boy proved himself every inch a 
soldier. Wherever the regiment went, on scout or in skirmish, close to 
Sergeant Farnsworth's elbow rode the little figure, with short, bare legs 
sticking out on either side of the high military saddle ; on his head an old 
soldier's cap, turned so that the visor rested on one ear, to prevent its fall- 
ing over his eyes like an extinguisher; and peering out from his shirt- 
bosom a little black head, which nestled lovingly under his chin. Never 
on any battle-field was a stranger sight than Patsey and his dog. They 
became known to nearly all the troops on the Peninsula. Even General 
Phil Kearney, " Phil, the fearless," one day patted the boy on the shoulder, 
and told him " he would do " ; which, whatever' it might mean, left Patsey 
in a state of unmixed satisfaction. 

July came, and the Michigan men, accustomed to the cool, fresh breezes 
of the Northern lakes, were stricken down by the fierce Southern sun, and 
suffered beyond the power of words to tell. Sergeant Farnsworth lay under 
his little shelter tent, burning with fever. " I 'd give ten dollars this minute 
for a glass of lemonade," he said one day. He spoke low to himself, but 
Patsey heard, and walked away, apparently in deep thought. Suddenly a 
flash of joy lit up his face. 

" Shure, an' I '11 do it, jist this very night," he said. Then he spun round 
on one foot, like a pin-wheel, as an appropriate method of expressing his 
feelings. As soon as it was dark, he crept silently to a point from which 
he managed to leave the camp unperceived by the guard. 

Daylight and Patsey came together to the sergeant's tent Patsey carried 
a tin cup. "Jist dhrink this, sergeant," he said, "an' ye '11 feel betther." 

The sergeant tasted. Lemonade ! He seized the cup, drained the last 
drop, and exclaimed, "God bless you, Patsey. That has done me good 
already." 

" Shure, an' I knowed it ; an' there 's plinty more whin ye want it" 

Up and down through the lines that day went Patsey, with a pail and a 
tin cup, crying, " Limonade, tin cints a coop." 

" Where did you get it, Patsey ? " the men would ask. 



1873J Patsey, Flash, & Co. 35 

"That 's my business. Av ye want it, take it, an' av not, I '11 go." 

The sutler of a neighboring regiment was surprised that evening by a 
visit from a boy, who inquired if he had missed "a pail an' a dozen o' 
limons an' some shugar." He had, and would like to catch the thief. 

"Twas mesilf tuk 'em," said Patsey; "an* it's no thafe I am; but I 
did n't have the money for 'em thin ; an' I 've brought it now, an' I '11 take 
a dozen more limons an' some shugar, av ye plaze." This was certainly 
rather a doubtful transaction ; but, thinking what Patsey's life had been, it 
was little wonder that he knew no better. 

Having once got money to start with, he paid promptly for his supplies, 
and did a brisk business. After a few days he gave up going round the 
camp, and established himself under a tree with his pail of lemonade set 
into a deep hole he had dug, to keep it cool, and his cups arranged on a 
hoard laid across a barrel, by way of a table. His price remained the same, 
" ten cents a cup." 

u That 's too much, Patsey," his customers would say sometimes. 

" Shure, an' yez '11 pay that for beer, an' this is betther nor that." 

When he had to leave his stand, he set Flash on the board, and the little 
black-and-tan flew savagely at any one who ventured too near. One day 
Patsey's visitors noticed a paper nailed to the tree, with this announcement, 
in letters half an inch long : — 

Lemonade. 
Patsey, Flash, &* Co. 

14 What is the meaning of that ? " they asked. 

"Shure, an' did yez niver see the loike in the city? Iverybody has 'em 
there," said Patsey. 

" But what has Flash got to do with it ? " 

" An' does n't he watch the place whin I 'm off, the way no wan can stale 
from me ? Small luck I 'd have widout him." 

"And what 's the Co. for ? " 

"An' is it a fool ye are ? Shure, an' it 's the bar'L What ud I do widout 
ittoholdtheboord?" 

Far and wide went the fame of " Patsey, Flash, & Co." ; and the Penin- 
sula veterans drank enough lemonade during the next month to float a 
man-o'-war. The pile of currency intrusted to Sergeant Farnsworth's keep- 
ing grew daily larger ; and Patsey began to feel like a solid business man. 

Late in the summer, the worn, battle-scarred army of the Peninsula re- 
turned to Washington. Then Patsey asked it he had money enough to buy 
a suit of clothes. " More than enough," the sergeant said ; so the clothes 
were bought, and still a goodly sum remained. Then Patsey said, " Ser- 
geant, I 'm thinkin' I '11 go into the paper business." 

" Selling newspapers, you mean ? " 

"Yis, sir. Thim that sells papers round the camps makes more money 
out av it than most anyway." 

" And you want to make money ? " 

" Shure, an' I do, sir ; an' I 'd betther take jist what cooms handy." 



36 Patsey, Flash, & Co. (January, 

" Good for you, Patsey," said the sergeant " If more would feel so, and 
go to work at the first thing they find, there would be fewer poor people." 

The regiment was ordered to the Shenandoah Valley, and there Patsey 
went into the paper business. Newspapers brought almost any price in 
the army. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five cents, were common prices for New 
York papers. Patsey would ride to Harper's Ferry, lay in a stock of papers 
at from eight to ten cents apiece, and make a profit of from ten to fifteen 
cents on each one. He still carried Flash in his shirt-bosom. His papers, 
wrapped in an old poncho, to protect them from the weather, were slung 
over his shoulder ; and pinned securely to the front of his cap was the sign, 
without which Patsey seemed to think he could not do business. Now it 

said : — 

Newspaper*. 

Patsey, Flask, &* Co. 
Who the " Co. " was this time was never fully determined ; but it was 
generally supposed to be the horse ; though this, as he scarcely ever rode 
the same one twice, must have involved frequent changes in the firm. 

Patsey sometimes ran no little risk in his journeys, for the guerillas 
would often make a dash up a cross-road, and whoever fell into their hands 
soon saw the inside of a Southern prison. Once he had a narrow escape 
from them. He was returning from Harper's Ferry, when, from the top 
of a hill, he saw a body of gray-coated cavalry coming up the road at a 
tearing trot. Escape was impossible. Quick as thought he unstrapped his 
package of papers and threw it over a bank, tore the sign from his cap, and 
rode quietly on. They stopped and questioned him, but he only stared and 
laughed, and played with his dog, until the leader said, " He 's half-witted. 
Let him go, men." So they rode on ; and Patsey, with strange prudence 
for a boy, never turned his head to look after them ; but, when he knew 
they must be out of sight, went back and secured his papers, then started 
his horse at full speed, and never drew rein until he was safe within our 
picket line. 

In the mean time Sergeant Farnsworth had distinguished himself in sev- 
eral engagements, had been two or three times promoted, and was now 
captain. Here he was obliged to stop. A fall from his horse had disabled 
him so that he could not ride, and there was nothing for him but to resign. 

" Patsey," said he, the day after he had sent in his resignation, "how would 
you like to go home with me ? I have written to my mother about you, and 
she says you may come if you will." 

" Is it to stay, ye mane ? " gasped Patsey, scarce believing this could be. 

" Yes, to stay with me, and learn to be a farmer ; that is what I am at 
home ; and with God's help we '11 make a man of you." 

" An' it 's that I 'd like beyant i very thing." 

The boy, fairly beside himself with joy, fell upon his knees and kissed the 
captain's hand. Flash, popping his head out for a better view of the situa- 
tion, uttered a series of short, shrill barks, indicating his entire approval. 
And so Patsey's future was decided 

Elisabeth Kilham. 



1873.J The Cradle. 3; 



THE CRADLE. 

THE barn was low and dim and old, 
Broad on the floor the sunshine slept, 
And through the windows and the doors 
Swift in and out the swallows swept 

And breezes from the summer sea 
Drew through, and stirred the fragrant hay 

Down-dropping from the loft, wherein 
A gray old idle fish-net lay 

Heaped in a corner, and one loop 
Hung loose the dry, sweet grass among, 

And hammock-wise to all the winds 
It floated to and fro, and swung. 

And there one day the children brought 
The pet of all the house to play ; 

A baby boy of three years old, 
And sweeter than the dawn of day. 

They laid him in the dropping loop, 
And softly swung him, till at last 

Over his beauty balmy sleep 
Its delicate enchantment cast 

And then they ran to call us all; 

" Come, see where little Rob is ! Guess ! " 
And brought us where the darling lay, 

A heap of rosy loveliness 

Curled in the net: the dim old place 
He brightened, like a star he shone 

Cradled in air : we stood as once 
The shepherds of Judea had done. 

And while adoring him we gazed, 

With eyes that gathered tender dew, 
Wrathful upon the gentle scene 
N His Celtic nurse indignant flew. 

" Is this a fit place for the child ! " 
And out of his delicious sleep 



38 About Constellations. [January, 

She clutched him, muttering, as she went, 
Her scorn and wonder, low and deep. 

His father smiled and drew aside, 

A grave, sweet look was in his face; 
"For One who in a manger lay 

It was not found too poor a place!" 

Celia Thaxter. 



ABOUT CONSTELLATIONS. 

I DO not believe the youngest reader of " Our Young Folks " will ask 
what a constellation is. You are all familiar with that singular group 
of stars in the north called the Great Dipper, or sometimes the Wain or 
Wagon, and many of you, I dare say, could point out the three stars which 
form Jacob's Staff, and perhaps the bright cluster called the Pleiades ; and 
then who has not heard of the beautiful Southern Cross, too low down in 
the southern hemisphere to be visible to us, but said by travellers to be the 
most magnificent of all the constellations ? 

But perhaps you do not all know that anciently the whole heavens were 
divided up into constellations. All the different groups of stars had names, 
and what is the most singular is, that these were mostly the names of men 
and animals. On our modern globes and charts of the heavens you will 
see these constellations represented, and a most curious sight they present, 
indeed. The whole heavens look on the chart like a vast menagerie of 
the strangest figures. There you can see the Great Dragon winding his 
immense length among the stars in the north, and Hercules in the very act 
of taming the three-headed dog Cerberus with his club ; and there is the 
Scorpion with its ugly-looking body and lobster-like claws, and the Lion 
and the Ram and the Bull ; and you can see, too, the winged horse, Pega- 
sus, and, what will perhaps seem to you the strangest sight of all, the two 
Centaurs, animals with human heads and shoulders, but with the bodies of 
horses. 

I wish I could show you a chart of the heavens, those of you who have 
never seen one. I should like to have you see how curious these things 
look, and then I should like to ask if you ever imagined there were such 
sights to be seen among the stars. But, perhaps, as I cannot show you 
the whole chart, two or three figures selected from it will answer the pur- 
pose very well. These will give you a good idea of the ancient constella- 
tions, and I will tell you where to look for them among the stars, so that 
you can see for yourselves how much or how little resemblance there is to 
them there. 

Our first selection is the Great Bear, or, as it is sometimes called by its 



I873J 



About Constellations. 



39 




Constellation of the Great Bear. 

ancient name, the Ursa Major. Did you ever see anything among the stars 
like that ? When you first look at it I think you will be wholly at a loss 
to tell whereabouts in the heavens this Great Bear belongs. But examine 
it a little more closely, and I think you will discover something familiar in 
the seven stars which form the tail and the hinder part of the body. You 
will easily recognize in these stars the Great Dipper, and now you will have 
no trouble to find its place in the northern sky ; but I will tell you before- 
hand that you will have to look very sharp indeed to make out the entire 
constellation. The outlines are very indistinct. 

The two outer stars in the bowl of the Dipper are called, as many of you 
know, the Pointers, and point to the North Star. When you have found 
the North Star, then imagine a line drawn through it, starting from the 
middle star of the Dipper handle, and carried nearly as far beyond the 
North Star, and your eye will rest on the constellation of Cassiopeia, The 
North Star lies about half-way between this constellation and the Dipper 
handle.* 

According to ancient mythology, Cassiopeia was the wife of Cepheus, 
King of Ethiopia. She was said to be very beautiful, and so proud of her 
beauty that she boasted of being even fairer than Juno, the queen of the 
gods, or than the beautiful Nereids, or sea-nymphs. This so enraged the 
Nereids, that they prevailed upon Neptune to send a flood and a ferocious 
sea-monster, to lay waste the country of Ethiopia. It was finally ordered 
that, to appease the anger of Neptune and the sea-nymphs, Andromeda, 

• It has not been thought necessary to reproduce the figure of Cassiopeia here. — Editors. 



*o 



About Constellations. 



[January, 



the daughter of Cassiopeia, should be given to this monster to be devoured. 
This shocking decree was about to be executed ; Andromeda was bound to 
a rock, but just as the monster was coming up from the sea, Perseus, a 
famous hero, appeared and killed him, and thus rescued the beautiful An- 
dromeda, whom he afterwards married. 

I have told you this story with all its hard names merely to show you 
how these constellations were mixed up with mythology, for Cepheus, Per- 
seus, and Andromeda are all to be found among the constellations, like 
Cassiopeia, but it would hardly interest you to have them pointed out 

Cassiopeia is represented seated on a throne, or chair of state. This 
constellation is sometimes called the Lady in her Chair, and sometimes 
simply the Chair. I leave you to decide, after you have found it, which is 
the best name for it 

We will next look at Orion. This is one of the most remarkable groups 
of stars visible to us, and many of you must already know something about 
it It may be seen during the winter evenings towards the south. You 
can easily find it by means of the three bright stars in the belt, which are 
sometimes known as Jacob's Sta$ and sometimes as the Three Kings. 



* 


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Constellation of Orion. 



1 873.] About Constellations. 41 

Even those of you who have heard this constellation called Orion will, 
I think, be somewhat surprised to see such a fully armed warrior as is here 
represented. You see he carries a sword, shield, and club, and seems to 
be in a desperate encounter with some unseen enemy. 

According to the fable, Orion was a great warrior and hunter, and there 
are several stories of the manner in which he met his death, all in some way 
accounting for his having a place among the constellations. One story is 
that he impiously boasted to Diana, one of the Greek goddesses, that he 
could kill any animal that she could send against him, whereupon she sent 
a scorpion, which stung him on the heel and caused his death. Both the 
scorpion and Orion were then made constellations, to serve as a warning to 
boasters in the future. Another story is that he was a great friend of Diana, 
and used to hunt with her, and that she herself one day shot him acciden- 
tally, as he was wading with only his head above the water, mistaking him 
for some strange animal, and that when the waves rolled his body to the 
shore she bewailed her mistake with many tears, and placed him among the 
stars. 

These stories and others like them, which I might tell you about the 
other constellations, are, as you well know, the purest fictions ; but I think 
when you have examined these figures carefully, and have seen how very 
little resemblance there is to them among the stars, you too will want some 
explanation of them. 

To many of you these figures will not be new. You have seen them on 
the chart, and others even more fanciful, and you have wondered what they 
were, and why you had such poor success in finding them among the real 
stars. There is a sort of mystery about them which I should be glad to clear 
up for you in part Look for them as sharply as we will, we can see nothing 
like them. Here and there we may indeed imagine we can detect some 
faint resemblance to them, but it is very faint indeed, and we are quite sure 
that we should never have thought of looking for such shapes among the 
stars. How, then, did the ancients come to imagine them ? 

Would you like to hear how this happened, how men were first led to 
observe and name the stars, and how in time the whole heavens became 
marked up in this mysterious way ? I think you would much rather I would 
tell you something about this than show you more pictures which you can 
find on any chart of the heavens, or tell you stories which you know are 
not true. 

Let us begin by asking a question which you have not yet thought of 
asking, — What was the use of these constellations ? When we have answered 
this, we shall be better able to understand how they came to be imagined 
in the first place. 

It has hardly occurred to you that these strange things, which we never 
trouble ourselves about, except from curiosity, can ever have had a use, and 
yet they did anciently have a use, and a very important one it was, too. I 
doubt whether you could guess it, if you were to guess ever so long. There 
was, indeed, one use anciently made of the stars with which you are all 



42 About Constellations. [January, 

acquainted. Before the invention of the compass, sailors steered their ships 
by them at night But the use to which I refer was even more important 
than this, and led men to be constantly observing the stars. It was this. 
Anciently the stars enabled men to keep trace of- the seasons, and thus, in 
a manner, regulated the common affairs of every-day life. Farmers told by 
them when it was time to sow and reap, and sailors, when they could ven- 
ture with safety to launch their ships and begin their spring voyages, or 
when they must lay them up in port through fear of the autumn and winter 
storms. These constellations — I do not mean exactly the figures^ but the 
groups of stars themselves and the names they bear — were as familiar to 
boys who lived two thousand years ago as are the days of the week and 
the months of the year to you. The stars were, in fact, the almanac of 
the ancients, for they had no almanacs like ours. 

So you see these constellations must have been very useful indeed, al- 
though you do not yet see quite how ; and you can see, too, why we take so 
little interest in them now, for we no longer have any such use for them. 
Our almanac, with its correct division of the year, is a much more con- 
venient guide to us, and farmers as little think of looking at the stars to 
tell when to begin their spring work, as they do of setting up a sundial to 
tell the hours of the day. This is one of those cases in which new inven- 
tions or improvements have left on our hands such curious objects that we 
almost forget, sometimes, that they ever had a use, but are apt to judge from 
these old-fashioned things that our ancestors were a very queer people. 

And now, having told you this, it would be unfair not to explain to you 
how the stars were anciently made to perform so valuable a service. I have 
some doubt about making you all understand this, but we will see. 

I suppose you all know what produces the change of seasons ; that this 
change is occasioned in some way by the earth's yearly revolution around 
the sun. You may not all be able to tell exactly in what way, and I am 
sorry that we shall have to leave this unexplained, but if you know the fact, 
as I think you do, you already have the key to the use made of the stars. 

The earth travels around the sun ; this causes the change of seasons ; the 
ancients kept trace of this change by the stars ; — put these three things 
together, and see if you cannot make something out of them. 

The explanation is this. At different seasons we are on different sides 
of the sun, and as night is always on that side of the earth which is opposite 
to the sun, we consequently at different seasons see different sets of stars, 
or see them differently situated. If we were to select some particular hour 
for taking an observation of the heavens, — we will say an hour before day- 
break, while the stars are still visible, — we should in summer and winter 
see opposite halves of the heavens, for you know we always see one half 
of the heavens at one time. The half which we should see in June is the 
half which in December is below the horizon, out of sight * 

• This is strictly true only of a narrow belt of the heavens lying midway between the two poles, 
for the region about the north pole is never oat of sight, and that about the south pole is never in 
sight to us. But the statement is sufficiently correct to assist in forming a clear conception of what 
the annual change in the heavens is. At the equator it would be strictly true. 



1 873.] About Constellations. 43 

The reason it is necessary to select some particular hour for taking this 
observation is, that, owing to the earth's revolution on its axis, we really 
have every night, between sunset and sunrise, a chance to see nearly the 
whole heavens, all except a narrow strip on either side of the sun. This I 
can hardly make clear to you, nor is it necessary to do so now. The reason 
I suggested an hour before daybreak — although any other, if we always took 
the same one, would have answered just as well — is because this was the 
hour preferred by the ancients. 

This change in the appearance of the heavens takes place gradually as 
the seasons advance. Every morning we can see in the east a small portion 
of that half of the heavens which the morning previous was below the hori- 
zon, out of sight. New stars will consequently every successive morning be 
seen in the east, while those in the west will successively disappear. The 
heavens have thus an apparent annual as well as daily revolution. 

This first appearance of a star or constellation in the east in the morning 
was called its rising, and its final disappearance at the same hour in the 
west was called its setting. You must not confound this with the daily 
rising and setting of the stars. The rising and setting of a constellation, 
as these terms were understood anciently, were its first and last appearance 
on the horizon at a particular hour of the morning, and took place in con- 
sequence of the apparent annual revolution of the heavens. 

I can hardly hope to have made this clear to you all, but I cannot do bet- 
ter in a short space, and I have at least given you something to think about 

The constellations have each a particular season of the year for thus 
rising and setting, and the ancients were perfectly familiar with them all, 
and with all their movements. They knew which rose and which set in the 
spring, and which in the summer and autumn, as well as you do which 
months come in these seasons, and you can imagine how very useful this 
knowledge was to them. Instead of consulting an almanac to tell when to 
begin certain labors, as our farmers do, they were up bright and early to 
consult the stars, — to observe the rising or setting of some well-known con- 
stellation. For example, we read that among the Romans the rising of 
Taurus, or the Bull, which took place in the later part of April, was the 
guide followed in planting certain seeds, as beans, and in sowing clover and 
millet ; and that on the setting of Bootes, in the beginning of November, 
certain winter grains were sown. Orion is another constellation frequently 
mentioned in ancient books. It was particularly useful to sailors, and is 
often called " the stormy Orion," because about the time of its setting dan- 
gerous storms might be expected. 

But I have already said enough to show you the use anciently made of 
the constellations, and I hope you have received some new ideas about 
them. In another article I shall tell you something of their curious his- 
tory,— how they were at first simply names for the stars, and how they 
gradually became mixed up with mythology, and assumed that strange char- 
acter which has sometimes caused so much mystery. 

George S. Jones. 



44 ^ Dramatic Entertainment. [January, 



A DRAMATIC ENTERTAINMENT. 

LOVEY and Kitty were gathering gold. Not illusive to them, surely, 
but fleeting and rather difficult of accumulation, for there was a merry 
wind about that tossed their treasure here and there, and tumbled their hair 
over their eyes when they ran for it 

Down in front of Gid's and Gussie's house there were rubies, and where 
the sunlight struck across them they glowed like flame ; but the old trees 
at the head of the street showered only pure gold, — no stain or speck of red 
upon it Lovey's hair was of this same color, but she liked rubies better, 
and after a while began to look longingly in their direction. Kitty thought 
gold was nice enough, and her mother had told her not to go as far as 
Gussie's house, so she played on delightedly ; but Lovey stopped at last, 
ankle-deep in the rustling riches, and, pushing her hair away, looked up 
into the yellow trees and the blue October sky, which was just the color 
of her eyes, although she did not know it. 

44 There 's a great deal of it to fall yet, Kitty," she said. " I wish it would 
all come down at once, and cover us all up ; we 'd be * Babes in the Wood, 1 
would n't we ? " 

" Oh ! " said Kitty, stopping short and drawing up her breath. " Lovey 
Haines, we can play * Babes in the Wood ' 1 " 

"How, Kitty?" 

" Why, it 's in 4 Our Young Folks/ and Winny said it would be splendid, 
and we 'd try it some time. She did n't tell me edsactly how, but it 's boys 
dressed up and hoppin' with bills and a feather duster, and red breasts, — 
and Winny laughed like everything, an' you don't speak, it's pants-o-mine, 
you know, you just do things ! " 

" O, but there is n't no boys, Kitty ! " 

" Well, I know ; but if only Gid could come, and Gussie." 

44 Let 's go and get them, Kitty Plummer ! " exclaimed Lovey, dancing with 
delight 

" But mamma told me to stay right at home," said Kitty, sadly, her face 
falling. 

" My mamma did n't tell me so," said Lovey, earnestly. 

" But she told you to stay here, Lovey, with me, and Marjory 'd take care 
of us." 

44 No," Lovey protested. " She said, ' I 'm going to the sewing-circle 
with Mrs. Plummer this afternoon, Lovey, and you may stay with Kitty.' 
She never said I must rit go to Gussie's house ! " 

" Well ! " assented Kitty, rather doubtfully ; and Lovey bounded away. 

She danced over the rubies, without so much as thinking of them, and 
met Gid with a heaped-up basket of apples at the back door. 

44 O Gid ! " — breathless with eagerness, — 44 we want you and Gussie up to 
Kitty Plummer's." 



1 873.] A Dramatic Entertainment. 45 

44 What for ? I *m busy, Lovcy, helping Tom gather apples," he answered, 
indifferently. 

" Well, any way, I 'm goin' to ask your mamma " ; and, running on into 
the kitchen, Lovey found the object of her search " preserving " pears, with 
little four-year-old Gussie pulling at her dress, and teasing for "anover 
taste." 

" Yes, they may go a little while," said the tired mother, very willingly, 
in answer to Lovey's request, making at the same time a pretty little rid- 
ing-hood of Gussie, by throwing over her head and shoulders a hooded red 
cape. 

" Come, Gid ; it 's some fun ; Kitty '11 tell you, and we must have you," 
Lovey called ; and he followed. 

Kitty stood at the gate holding an old red shawl and a feather duster, 
furnished by Marjory. 

"O Gid and Gussie," she called, "hurry up! They're all gone, an' 
there 's nobody in our bouse but Marjory, and we 're goin' to play * Babes 
in the Wood,' and you 're goin' to be the robin, Gid, coverin' us up with 
leaves, and this is what you 're fixed with, only there 's a bill on, and I 've 
forgot how. It 's in ' Our Young Folks,' and Winny read it." 

" yes, / know what you mean," said Gid, laughing. " It 's in the last 
one.* Get it, Kitty, quick, and let 's see how to make the bill." 

"It'll take her two hours to read it, if there's long words in it," said 
Lovey, impatiently. 

"Why, I know quite big words, Lovey Haines. I'm 'most a month 
older 'n you are ! " 

" Yes, and when they let us play ' authors ' once, you asked Charley if he 
had ' Another Trollope,' and he laughed till he rolled under the table," 
retorted Lovey. 

"Ho! I s'pose she meant * Anthony Trollope,' " said Gid, rather loftily. 

Gid is eight years old, and is looked up to by the three little girls as a 
person of knowledge and experience ; an illusion which he makes no effort 
to dispel. 

"There, I've thought!" cried Kitty, suddenly running to the kitchen 
again, and coming back with a tin tunnel. 

" Fiddlestick ! " exclaimed Gid ; " I knew all the time what the bill was, 
only I could n't think. I 've got some good stout strings here somewhere." 
And, after removing several articles of personal property from his pockets, 
he brought to light some tarred cord. 

" You must tie the shawl round me with this, girls, for the red breast 
Tom told me how. Put the handle of the feather duster on my back, there, 
so. Now tie it round under my arms first, and then round my waist, tight 
and hard. Can you tie a good hard knot that won't slip, Kitty ?" 

u Yes," said Kitty, tugging at the string. 

"There!" exclaimed Gid, after it was done; "my arms ought to have 
been tied in there out of sight Who ever saw a four-legged bird ? " 

• See the number for October, 1872. 



46 A Dramatic Entertainment. [January, 

"No, your arms must be wings" suggested Lovey. "You never can 
cover us up with that tunnel bill, and you '11 have to use your hands some 
way." 

" O yes," said Kitty, taking off her little waterproof cape and throwing 
it over his shoulders. " There, let it hang over your arms. It '11 cover 'em 
up, and it looks some like wings, don't it, Lovey ? " 

Lovey affirmed that it did. 

" Now for the bill," said Gid ; and, taking the tunnel in his teeth so that 
it concealed his nose and a good part of his face, he stooped a little, flapped 
his wings, and gave a preliminary hop and chirp, at which Kitty and little 
Gussie fell down among the leaves screaming with laughter. 

Lovey did not smile. She thought the "Babes in the Wood" a very- 
affecting story, and was determined to see only the pathetic side of this 
pitiful robin. 

" Why, girls, you mustn't laugh ! " she said. " Now we must be the 
* Babes,.' and be '11 come and cover us up." 

" Where 's your cruel uncle ? " said Gid, in a sepulchral voice, holding the 
tunnel with his wings, and speaking through it, " and your ruffians ? " 

" O, I forgot ! " said sanguine little Kitty, musing a minute. " Well, we 
can't have only that part where the poor little babes are covered up with 
leaves, and — " 

" And there '11 have to be three babies and only one robin ; but he 's a 
stunner ! " interrupted Gid, flapping and chirping again. 

" O Gid," cried Gussie, laughing till the tears ran down her cheeks ; 
"you don't sing like a wobin, you sing like a cwow/" 

" Well, begin now," said Gid. " Go out there under the trees by the back 
yard where it looks more like the wood, and I '11 come from the hedge here." 
And in a few minutes there were three little forms cuddled down on the 
leaves, and the robin came hopping from the hedge. 

" Chirp / " said the robin, stretching his neck, perking, and looking out 
sidelong. 

" O dear me ! " said poor little Gussie, exploding with laughter again. " If 
't wa % n't for that tail, I know I could help it ! " 

" Be still," said Lovey, severely, mumbling face downward in the leaves. 
" Do you s'pose the dear little babies snickered when the robins came, 
Gussie Hale ? " 

" What did the wobins come for ? " asked Gussie. 

" Stop ! " commanded Lovey. 

" Where wos the babies ? " persisted Gussie. 

" Don't talk ! " pleaded Lovey. " We 're dead ! " 

" Who 's dead ? / won't ! " said Gussie, sitting up suddenly and beginning, 
to whine. " I wavver be a wobin. I don' want to be 'is ! " 

" Is there anybody at home ?" said a voice ; and, looking up, they saw a 
gentleman and a lady, with faces of imperturbable gravity, leaning over the 
hedge. 

" No, sir," said Gid, dropping his beak, and twitching vainly at the feather 



I873-] ^ Sooty Thunderbolt 47 

duster. If only he had been a babe in the wood, covered never so deep with 
leaves! 

"0, it's Uncle Nat and Aunt Emily J" cried Kitty, scrambling up and 
running to meet them. 

" Why, is it you, dear little Kitty ? " said the lady. " We came from the 
depot and found the house deserted." 

" No, Marjory 's in here somewhere ; come right in," said Kitty, bustling 
away full of a new dignity, and followed by Lovey. 

In a remote corner of the garden the robin plucked furiously at his plu- 
mage ; and later an old red shawl, a tin tunnel, and a feather duster were 
found where the curtain fell 

Anna Boynton AverilL 



A SOOTY THUNDERBOLT. 

ONE August night, while our party was in the Katahdin region, our camp 
was on the crest of one of those long, bare, and rocky ridges to the 
north and northwest of the main peaks. Formerly this ridge had nourished 
a growth of lofty pines. Tall, weathered stubs, often fifty and seventy feet 
high, tower grimly from its ledgy, droughty summit; while hundreds of 
fallen trunks attest, like ruined columns, to a former grandeur. Only a few 
dwarfish sumachs, with here and there a green-black patch of scrub-spruce, 
can now find a root-hold. 

Our fire was built in the lee of a large transient boulder of granite which 
in old glacial times had been pushed across from the " northeast peak." 
On the lower side of it grew a purple-budded clump of the sumachs, under 
the palm-like tops of which we proposed to make our " nests " for the night, 
of the dry brakes that had grown plentifully there last year, but from some 
cause had not sprouted during the present season. 

The afternoon had been hot, the heats of that headachy, feverish sort 
which characterize a sultry August day. We were therefore not surprised, 
as we sipped our strong, black coffee, and ate our cold "bite," to hear 
the dull rumble of distant thunder, and see a dark bank of clouds looming 
in the northwest, from far over the inky expanse of Lake Chesuncook. 

"Shower coming," Wash remarked. "We're chalked for a ducking, 
unless we can contrive a shelter with our blankets against the rock," he 
added. 

For the next fifteen minutes we were busy enough, bending the sumach 
stalks up against the side of the boulder, fastening them with flat stones, 
spreading the blankets over them, and placing more stones along the edges. 
Meanwhile, the cloudy mass came rolling grandly on. Night seemed to 
come with it. The air darkened. Bright lines gleamed far off in the 



48 A Sooty Thunderbolt. [January, 

gloom of the cloud. The thunder pealed but on a sudden startlingly 
nearer. 

From our elevated position the coming of the shower over the dark for- 
ests and darker lake had a sublimity which inspired awe. To see it driving 
up so furiously, while as yet not a leaf stirred near us, unfolding strange 
and ghastly tints, and lighted by shuddering fires, the red flush of which 
shone distinctly down on the distant waters, made altogether a panorama 
grander than words can portray. Soon a misty wall of falling drops ad- 
vanced across the landscape, heralded by a solemn, far-borne roar which 
half drowned the thunder. 

We had stood gazing on the scene. A sudden gust plucked wildly at 
our hats, and tore and twisted the sumachs. The cloud was getting up over- 
head. Swift, vengeful flashes streamed out, followed by short, sharp peals. 
Then came a dazzling blaze ; a deafening crash and roar burst forth with a 
hollow, awful rattling of the heavens. My eyes were aflame ; but I caught 
fearful glimpses of a lofty stub, forty or fifty yards to the south of our camp, 
seemingly a pillar of bright fire. And then we all saw a great ball of flame, 
blue-bright and wondrous, rolling slowly toward us from the foot of the 
stub. Slowly, I say ; for we all jumped away from out its path, and still 
saw it trundling up, no faster than a football, bobbing over the uneven 
ground. It touched a rough fragment of granite, a few yards from our 
shelter, and exploded with a loud bang, like the report of an overcharged 
musket Squibs and arrows of flame darted about with a strong odor of 
ozone. 

None of us were struck ; we had got pretty well off from it ere it burst. 

" A fire-ball I " Wash exclaimed. 

" A clearly pronounced case of globular lightning ! " was Raed's exultant 
comment. 

" Set the stub afire," observed ^ade. 

Up near the top the slivered old trunk was bursting into blaze. The 
gusts made forked tongues stream out in the gathering darkness. Momen- 
tarily the sheeted, driving rain swept past. We dived into our shelter. 

That was the last of the thunderbolt that night ; but Raed waked us all 
at a very early hour next morning, bidding us come out and see where the 
" fire-globe " had burst against the fragment of rock. A spot as large as 
one's two hands was blackened. Soot had been deposited, enough to smut 
our fingers, and bits of a sooty substance lay sprinkled about. 

Now if electricity be a mere forde y as Tyndall and Faraday tell us, what 
blackened the rock ? Where did the soot come from ? Was it from sub- 
stances which this electric force had collected in its passage through the 
air, — aerial particles of metallic and sulphurous dust ? 

We debated this question quite warmly that morning ; but as we came to 
no very satisfactory conclusions, I shall leave it to the learned papas and 
mammas of our younger readers. 

Unpublished " Camping Out" Sketches. 




The Nicholas Bridge, &c 




The Alexander Column. 



From the New Illustrated Edition of Miss Procter's " A Russian Journey: 9 




SmjUK YOUNG. CONTRIBUTORS 4 



=ST*= 



CARL'S PLAYTHINGS. 

IN the city there is a street of tall brick houses, in which there are cheap lodgings 
for poor people. Behind one of these houses there is a little yard, where the 
noise of the street is only a subdued murmur, and tufts of grass spring up between 
the stones. It is surrounded on three sides by brick buildings, and on the fourth by 
a high wall, which in summer is half covered by a climbing honeysuckle that bears 
curious red flowers. 

One June morning this place was in all its glory. In the corner some dandelions 
were blooming under a broken clothes-basket, pushing their brave yellow heads 
through the cracks and crevices, and in the fringe of grass along the foot of the wall 
was a pink clover-blossom. The honeysuckle was full of flowers, but the topmost 
branch, the most beautiful of all, had been broken off, and lay half withered on the 
ground. A large humming-top lay beside it, and a battered and solemn little horse 
on wheels looked on with amazement in his one round eye. 

The old clothes-basket belonged to the German washerwoman who lived in one 
of the tenements, but the playthings were her little boy's. The honeysuckle was his, 
too. It had grown from a slip that his mother had brought, long ago, all the way 
from her garden in Germany, and Carl was proud of its strength and beauty. 

One day in spring he had gone out to spin his top, and see if the honeysuckle had 
bloomed. Some of the buds had partly opened, and the air was filled with the fra- 
grance. There was a blue square of sky above the yard, and Carl almost thought 
he heard a bird singing somewhere. 

Looking up at the sky, he saw some one at an open window of the house opposite, 
— a little girl of five or six, wrapped in a shawl, looking wistfully down into the yard. 
Her face was white and thin, and the warm wind blew her hair around it, till she 
looked like one of those quaint old pictures of saints with patient, childish faces, and 
halos about their heads. 

"Come down," cried Carl, — " come down, little girl, and play with me. I 'U let 
you spin my top ! " 
But she only shook her head sadly, and presently the window was shut 
" She is sick," said Carl to himself. " Poor little girl ! " 

It was delightful out there in the yard, it was so warm. The grass by the wall was. 
almost as green and fresh as grass in the country, and the honeysuckle had come all 
Ibe way from Germany. 

Carl was looking at his top. It was rather worn and dingy, but then it had a 
wonderful hum. Except the little spotted horse on wheels, it was his only plaything. 
Presently he walked slowly towards the window under that at which he had seen 
VOL. IX. — NO. I. 4 



50 Our Young Contributors. [January, 

the little girL It was so warm that the window was open, and a woman sat there 
sewing. 

Carl stood on tiptoe holding up the battered old top. " See ! " he said to the 
woman : " it Is a pity that the little girl up stairs can't come out ; this is for her to 
play with." Then he ran away into the house. 

Several days passed before he saw the little sick girl again. She was sitting at the 
window as before, but she seemed paler and thinner ; when she saw Carl she smiled 
and nodded, and waved her hand to him. Carl was playing with the wooden horse, 
which he loved almost as well as the German honeysuckle. It was no wonder, for 
this fiery steed stood proudly on three legs, and was covered all over with round red 
spots, while amazement, and affection for Carl, gleamed in his single great eye. 

Carl had fastened a dandelion on his head, and he was indeed splendid. The sick 
child thought so, for she stretched out her weak little arms towards him, and cried, 
" O, the pretty horse ! the beautiful horse ! " 

Carl looked up at the window, and then at the wooden horse on wheels. 

"Perhaps she would like — " he began; but then, suddenly throwing his arms 
around his old toy, whispered softly, " My dear, pretty Fritz, I can't give you up ; I 
want you ! " 

No doubt Fritz looked much astonished, but the great dandelion fell over his eye 
and obscured it 

Carl played about the yard in the mild warm air some time, but he seemed to be 
thinking hard, and presently he began to talk confidentially to Fritz. 

44 Would you amuse the little girl? Would you be very quiet and good ? n 

Fritz said nothing, but he stood on three legs with a determined air, like the 
gallant steed he was, and the yellow flower gleamed on his forehead like gold. 

Carl took him up, and carried him to the window, where the woman sat all the 
time at work. He pushed him slowly in, and, " It is for the little sick girl," he said, 
speaking very fast and thick. 

It was summer now. There had been several hot days already, and the German 
honeysuckle was covered with flowers. 

The little girl in the opposite house was too ill even to sit by the window, and 
Carl wandered up and down the little yard all alone. 

When the topmost branch of the honeysuckle had bloomed, he broke it off for her, 
thinking that it might perhaps bring something of the beauty and fragrance of the 
summer-time into her dreary room. It was a fine branch of flowers, fresh and sweet- 
smelling ; but as he gave it to the sewing- woman, he noticed a curious expression on 
her face. She held the flowers in her hand a moment, and then said, gently, 4< I 
guess, little boy, she will not want them now. She is dead." 

Without looking into his frightened face, she gave him back the honeysuckle 
branch, and pushed the old top and the little horse on wheels into his unwilling 
hands. 

He stood there, perplexed and awed, with the playthings in his arms, when his 
mother called sharply from the house, " Carl ! Carl ! " 

He dropped everything, and ran in. 

And this is why, on that June morning, a withered honeysuckle branch and a 
humming-top were lying on the ground in that little back yard, while a broken little 
horse on wheels looked pathetically on with his one round, bewildered eye. 

Alice C. Qsbortu t age 1 4. 



1873] Our Young Contributors. 51 



ITALIAN PEASANTS. 

In our geographies the people of Italy are usually characterized as a lazy, good- 
for-nothing set. And that there are lazy people in Italy is undeniable ; nay, I will 
go so far as to admit that the beggars and lazzaroni are about the laziest people on 
the face of the globe. But there is another class of people, the contadini, or peasants, 
who may with equal truth be described as the most industrious. 

The contadini — as perhaps you may know — are the agriculturists of Italy. Un-. 
like our farmers, however, they do not own their ground or rent it from a landlord, 
bat are employed by the landlord to till his ground, and he compensates them for 
their services by giving them a house rent free, and by dividing the profits of the 
podere, or farm, with them. Very few poderi, by the by, yield more than one hundred 
and fifty or two hundred dollars a year ; and it is on the half of that sum that the 
contadino has to support his family, which is always a large one, eight or nine chil- 
dren being by no means an uncommon number. A podere often contains several 
hundred acres, and you will readily perceive that to cultivate it properly requires an 
immense deal of labor, particularly if you reflect that none of our modern improve- 
ments are known in Italy. Even the plough is used very sparingly, and only on that 
part of the podere where wheat is raised, — the greater part of the tilling being done 
with that most primitive of implements, the spade. It is indeed a wonderful, and to 
unaccustomed eyes rather a painful sight, to see a whole family of contadini, men, 
women, and children, each with spade in hand, toiling away the whole day long 
with the thermometer at 90 odd in the shade. Perhaps you will be surprised at 
the idea of the women sharing their husbands' labors in the field ; but, indeed, the 
contadine (that *s the feminine plural of the noun contadino) are even more industrious 
than their lords and masters. It is a positive fact that, except when at their meals or 
in bed, they are always busy at something. When their day's work in the field is 
over, they either take out their straw platting or their knitting, or else sit down by 
those old-fashioned implements, the distaff and the spindle. The very smallest chil- 
dren also have to contribute their mite of labor. Almost as soon as they can walk 
they are made to perform small jobs about the house and yard. 

Naturally, they have little or no time for study, and you very rarely meet a conta- 
dino who can either read or write, although there are excellent public schools in every 
village, no matter how smalL But then, where ignorance is bliss, you know, *t is folly 
to be wise, and I really don't see that learning would do them any good. True, they 
have that fault common to all ignorant people, namely, superstition ; but then, who 
would exchange their blind, unswerving belief in everything they see and hear for the 
cold, calculating scepticism prevailing in more learned communities ? As to morals, 
they are the most simple, innocent, and guileless people it has ever been my lot to 
meet Admirers of George Eliot's novels will remember the character of "Tessa" 
in " Romola " ; and, indeed, she is not an exceptional case, but a type of the whole class. 

I have mentioned that the landlord gives the contadino a house free of rent, and 
this house is indeed a marvel to see. It *s nothing like the comfortable, cosey little 
cot in which the humbler American dwells, but a great irregular mass of stone (a 
far cheaper material in Italy than either brick or wood), partitioned off in the interior 
into a few large rooms. The front door generally opens right into the bake-room, 
where the huge brick oven is. The reason this oven is made so large is, that bread 
b baked in it only about once every three months, and, therefore, enough has to be 
b*ked at one time to last until the next bake-day comes round. At the side of the 



52 Our Young Contributors. [January, 

bake-room is a really immense room, which serves the triple purpose of kitchen, 
parlor, and dining-room. In the middle of this room is a table of the rudest possible 
fashion, which, with a few straw-bottomed chairs and perhaps a cheap print or two, 
is all the furniture it can boast of. The bedrooms are up stairs, and are of some- 
what smaller dimensions. At first sight all these rooms appear to be as squalid and 
dirty as possible ; but if you look into the matter, you 11 find that this is not on ac- 
count of the contadino's want of cleanliness, — he washes and scrubs them faithfully 
enough, — but because such houses cannot be kept clean. Many of them are nearly 
a thousand years old, and all the washing and scrubbing in the world won't wash out 
the marks imprinted by the finger of Time. Then, from some cause which I don't 
pretend to understand, the chimneys are so faultily constructed that they won't draw 
well, and the smoke from the oven and the kitchen fire blackens the walls in a way 
which nothing can efface, besides filling the house with a very unpleasant odor. 

Meat is very little eaten by the contadini, being considered too great a luxury for 
any day but Sunday. They subsist chiefly on vegetables, and a preparation of chest- 
nut flour, which is quite a palatable mess. Butter is not used by them at all, but 
they spread their bread with olive-oil instead. Even the very poorest of them always 
have a flask of wine for dinner ; and yet, to do them justice, they are the soberest 
people in the world, and such a thing as a drunkard among them is absolutely un- 
known. 

As to their dress, the picturesque costume which you have perhaps been accustomed 
to associate with the Italians of the lower classes has long ago been discarded, and 
the outer man of the contadino now differs very little from that of any other civilized 
being, except that it 's always as full of holes as a pepper-box. The contadino, 
indeed, is a great believer in the proverb of "Waste not, want not." He'll wear 
the same old coat for years, and when at last it has become so ragged as to be liter- 
ally unwearable, he '11 hand it over to his better-half, who will manage to make some 
kind of a jacket out of it for one of her sons ; and when it *s become too small for 
him it will go to his younger brother, and in this way will run through the whole 
family. When at last all the sons have outgrown it, it will be handed down to the 
grandsons. After a while it will drop off the wearer's back from sheer inability of 
the shreds to keep together. But its reign of usefulness will not yet be over. The 
mother, after having soundly drubbed the last wearer for the shameful way in which 
he has maltreated his clothes, will cut out all the best pieces, and put them carefully 
away to serve as patches in other garments whenever needed. Then the remnants 
will be tied to a stick and placed in the podere as a scare-crow. 

It 's just the same way with the clothes of the females ; they are all handed down 
from one generation to another. But then, besides their every -day dresses, the con- 
tadine (fern. pL) have one dress in common, which the simple creatures all unite in 
believing the most gorgeous thing of its kind ever seen. It is a white muslin dress, 
with a lace veil, and a wreath of flowers of the same color. 

This is worn by all the daughters successively at their first communion and wed- 
dings, becoming the property of the one last married. 

Being used so seldom, it 's natural that these dresses should last for a long time, and, 
in fact, it 's not unusual to find one which is over two hundred years old. 

Well, then, to conclude, the contadini are a sober, industrious, and honest class of 
people ; not assuredly without their faults, but still, in .their own way, very useful 
members of society. 

Wm. S. Walsh. 

Camden, N. J. 



1 873.] Our Young Contributors. 53 

THE CANDY FROLIC. 

"0 # dear ! what shall we do next ? I am so tired of watching the rain, and I *ve 
played circus until I am tired, and Tom has won all my marbles, and there 's nothing 
else to da" And Dick sighed disconsolately at the dreary aspect of things in 
general. , 

" Well, I 'm sure I don't know," said Bess. " Nor I," echoed Fanny. While little 
Nell said hopefully, "Ask mamma ; she '11 know ; she always does." So ofT started 
these three restless mortals, for the sitting-room, where they poured their troubles 
into mamma's sympathizing ear. 

" Well, my dears," said she, " suppose you make molasses candy. I used to think 
that great fun when I was a little girL" 

"O goody!" said Dick, standing on his head by way of expressing his satisfac- 
tion, while the girls declared that mamma had thought of just the nicest plan imagi- 
nable, and Nell said triumphantly, " I told you so." 

" Now go to the kitchen and ask € cook ' if she will have you there, and then all 
of you put on big aprons, and I will come and see that you begin right" They did 
so, and "cook" having consented on condition that she should have some of the 
candy, they were soon busy at work. Tom and Fanny were deputed to prepare the 
nuts, while Dick and Bess presided over the molasses kettle, and Nell flew around 
with a large spoon in her hand, alternately dipping it into the candy and popping it 
into ber mouth, declaring with a wise look that she thought it was n't sweet enough. 
Things went on very prosperously for a while, although Tom did now and then, 
hammer his fingers instead of the nuts, and Dick and Bess nearly upset the whole 
kettle of molasses in their endeavors to get it on to the front of the stove. But the 
molasses was determined to do its best, and boiled with all its might, bubbled, and 
tried to get out of the kettle, until, after dropping it into water several times, Dick 
announced, with a solemnity befitting the occasion, that it "was done," and called 
for the pans. Bess made a frantic rush for the pantry, and brought out two pie-pans, 
a pudding-dish, and a tin pail ; into these the candy was poured and taken to the 
cellar to cool, while the children sat down and tried to make the time pass quickly 
by telling stories, until it should be hard. 

Just in the middle of a frightful "ghost story," Tom declared he heard a noise in 
the cellar, and they all hastened to the spot to look after the precious candy. Dick 
arrived there first, and set up a doleful cry which was followed by a sharp •* Scat I" 
The others followed, and a sad spectacle met their gaze. It seems that Tabby 
and her three kittens made their home in the cellar, and had accidentally stepped into 
the pans of soft candy. As it was rather warm, they tried their best to get out, but 
that was n't so easy as getting in, and there they were obliged to remain, mewing 
piteously, while poor Tabby ran around in great distress, and in her frantic endeavors 
to help them had made the noise which raised the alarm. 

The kittens were soon extricated by tender-hearted Nell, while the others examined 
the state of the candy. Fortunately, that in the pail was untouched ; " For which, O, 
let us be thankful ! " said Bess. 

14 But it is so soft ! " groaned Fanny. ** I 'm afraid it ought to have been put in 

something more shallow." However, they made the best of it, and carried the rescued 

candy up stairs, where the whole family were invited to partake of it, which they did, 

and praised it very highly, although it was rather soft, to be sure ; but, as mamma said 

soothingly, "accidents will happen in the best regulated families." 

Madge, age 15. 
Long Bxakch, N. J. 



54 Our Young Contributors. [January, 

MUSICAL BOXES. 

Almost the last words I heard before leaving New York last spring were, 'J Now 
be sure to see the Musical Boxes when you get to Geneva." So, when I came to 
Geneva, I went round from one shop to another looking at them ; but I did not see 
anything very remarkable until one day, sauntering along the promenade, I dropped 
myself into a shop and asked for musical boxes of the pretty, vivacious little French 
girl at the counter. 

After looking at some which were exactly like others that I had seen again and 
again, I asked for a certain air which they had not in stock. Instantly my little 
French girl did a most sensible thing ; she rushed off in the manner of vivacious 
French girls, and returned with a small brown card bearing in its centre the picture 
of a musical box, and below the picture, — Fabricant de Pieces & musique en tons 
genres. Rue Pradur, No. 7. Here, then, was the magical bit of pasteboard that, 
unknown to myself, was to admit me to the Palace of Musical Wonders. 

Directed where to find the "No. 7, Rue Pradier " by the same obliging person, I 
started on my quest, and came at last upon a shabby workshop full of brass and iron 
and bare-armed workmen, one of whom put me on the right road by pointing to a 
door at the end of a long passage. This door bore upon it in broad, black letters, 
Salon <L vente; and on opening it I found myself in the salesroom of the factory. 

Here, in two small but neatly furnished rooms, were some of those musical wonders 
that have made Geneva famous the world over. Here were to be bought musical 
boxes of all kinds, from the child's toy for ten francs to the great piano-like boxes 
costing five hundred times as much. Round the walls were ranged shelves filled 
with boxes of all sizes, shapes, and tunes. On the tables, too, were musical boxes ; 
on the mantel-pieces, on the floor, here and there and everywhere, lay the boxes in 
magnificent profusion, and holding silent within their polished walls no end of pretty 
tunes. 

A salesman who spoke remarkably good English showed us, in company with 
several others, the remarkable features of the rooms. By one of the windows hung 
two wicker cages, each containing a canary bird. But what, in the name of wonder, 
can that thing sticking out at the side be ? Presently up comes our conductor, and 
grasping the "thing" commences turning it Sure enough, it's a key, and he's 
winding up the little songster, which forthwith begins to sing, fluttering at the same 
time its tail-feathers, and turning its head from side to side in the most natural way 
imaginable. This bird would continue, we were told, to sing at intervals for two 
hours just like a real canary, only better. It cost six hundred francs. Our eyes were 
next drawn to several bottles and decanters which adorned a sideboard. The guide 
picked up one of them, and, on his turning it bottom up, it immediately began to 
play "Coming thro' the Rye." It was intended for wine, and when your guest filled 
his glass by inverting the bottle, his ears would be saluted with music. It would 
puzzle any one not in the secret to tell whence the music came ; for the bottle is per- 
fectly transparent except in one place, the bottom, which is ground until the glass 
becomes opaque, and in the hollow of which the musical box is placed. 

Next came a cigar and wineglass stand, which played when opened, and stopped 
when it was closed. Ladies' work-boxes and photograph albums addicted to the 
same pleasing habits were strewn broadcast over the tables, to say nothing of purses 
that, when you opened them to take money out, played an appropriate air ; perhaps 
" Coal-OU Johnny," or " Tommy Dodd." 



1 8 73-] O ur Young Contributors 55 

Just in front of a handsome mirror rested two porcelain flower-pots containing 
each a small nondescript vegetable, on which was perched an equally nondescript 
bird , These, too, were subjected to the winding-up process, and the birds thereupon 
began shaking their tails, fluttering and whistling in a most surprising and unheard- 
of manner. 

By this time we had arrived at the musical boxes properly so called, and we cer- 
tainly heard a great variety. During the performance of one of the large boxes, a 
very stout lady, exhausted by her sight-seeing and hearing, seated herself in one of 
the handsome arm-chairs that were scattered through the rooms. No sooner had she 
done so than the air was filled with discord ; for she had inadvertently sat upon a 
musical chair, which instantly began to play a tune, like the famous seats at the Round 
Table, which filled the air with music when the chosen knight sat upon them. 

One of the finest boxes we saw, or rather heard, was one containing a complete 
orchestra with sets of bells, anvils, drums, and trumpets. To hear this splendid piece 
of workmanship perform an operatic air was almost equal to hearing a real orchestra. 
Everything came in with perfect accord. It played the " Soldier's Chorus " from 
Faust for us ; it was simply superb ; the rattle of the miniature drums, the blast of the 
tiny trumpets, were all given to perfection, and with splendid effect 

T. B. Stork. 



BABY'S WISDOM AND RICHES. 

O YOU grown folks with your wisdom, And he sees the fairies hiding 

You don't know what Baby knows, — In the lily and the rose; 
You have never seen the fairies Ah, you grown folks with your wisdom, 

In the lily and the rose. You don't know what Baby knows ! 

You have never heard their whispers 

As they hover in the air ; O you grown folks with your riches, 

Only Baby hears them ever, Jewels, silver, precious gold, 

All for him their stories rare. You are not so rich as Baby, 

Treasures great his small hands hold. 
When you hear the merry robins For the buttercups are golden, 

Singing in the garden near, And the daisies silver white, 

Do you ever know the meaning And the dewdrop in the morning 

Of their songs so sweet and clear? Is a jewel diamond-bright. 

Ah! when Baby, smiling, listens, 

With his blue eyes shining bright, O you grown folks with your wisdom, 
He can understand their carols, Do not spoil these visions bright ; 

He can heed their songs aright Soon the world will close around him, 

Shutting out the glorious sight 
When the butterflies come sailing Soon he '11 mingle in its pleasures, 

Through the air on purple wings, And forget the fairies' words ; 

In his ear they whisper many But till then, I pray you, leave him 

Beautiful and lovely things; With the flowers and the birds. 

Alice Maude, age 14. 




LOVE IN AMBUSH. — A PANTOMIME. 

THIS pantomime can be'produced in any room, without rehearsal, and with but 
very little trouble, by children or adults. If convenient, a waltz should be played 
upon a piano, and the performers should keep time with it in their motions. 

PERSONS AND COSTUMES. 
Stephen, the father. Dressing-gown, spectacles, cane, hair powdered with flour, 

coat, shawl, and hat. 
Frank, the lover. Dress-coat, cane, eye-glass, straw hat. 
Jenny. Calico dress, white apron. 
A table ; ironing board, or any other board {or boards pieced together for the purpose} 

about the size of the top of table ; clothes-basket standing on a candle-box ; flat-iron ; 

some toivels in the basket ; a sheet, or large table-cloth ; two chairs, a newspaper, sheet 

of paper, pen, empty inkstand, three envelopes with letters inside. 

i 
Jenny enters, places table in centre of room, puts board upon it, spreads cloth over 

so it reaches the floor, takes towels from basket and irons them, goes to the door, 

comes back to her work, and repeats this action twice, as if expecting a visitor. 

Stephen enters slowly, leaning on his cane, and sits down in a chair at the left of 
table ; unfolds his newspaper, and begins to read. Jenny makes gestures of disap- 
pointment, and goes often to the door. Stephen motions to. her to attend to her 
work. She begins to iron, stopping to go. toward the door when his eyes are fixed 
on the paper. She seems anxious to get Stephen away, and takes a pattern of calico 
from her pocket, motioning him to go and buy some. Stephen feels in his pockets, 
and shakes his head. A knock is heard at the door. Jenny seems very impatient ; 
Stephen again directs her to work. She takes a letter from her pocket ; motions to 
him that it is time for him to go for the mail. He seems unwilling ; the knocks 
continue. Jenny goes for his hat, coat, and shawl, hastily puts them on him, and 
pushes him to the door. As Stephen goes out, she pulls .Frank in behind his back, 
and locks the door. 

Jenny and Frank shake hands energetically several times ; she places two chairs 
close together ; they sit down and look lovingly at each other r Frank kneels down 
and takes her hand, holding his other hand on his heart 

Loud knocks at the door. They take the board and the cloth off the table, and 
carry the table out of the room by another door. Frank then places his hands and 
knees on the candle-box, which is placed just where the table had stood. His head is 
toward the right Jenny places the board upon his back, and covers it with the doth, 



I873-] 



The Evening Lamp. 



57 



which must reach the floor, so that the table thus formed resembles the other one very 
closely. She runs to the door, and lets in Stephen, who seems very cold and cross. 

He takes off his hat and shawl, and draws a chair slowly up to the left of the table. 
Just as he sits down Frank kicks away the chair, and he sits upon the floor. He gets 
up, shakes his fist at Jenny, who motions that she did not do it, as she was very busy 
ironing. He draws up the chair again, with a like result Then Jenny holds the 
chair until he sits down. Stephen opens and reads his letters. Jenny seems to be 
talking with Frank, who shows his head at right end of table, and seems tired. Jenny 
motions him to keep stilL 

Stephen goes for pen, ink, and paper, and begins to write. Frank becomes tired, and 
moves the table up and down violently. Stephen shakes his fist at Jenny ; seems 
telling her not to shake the table. She continues her work, and when Stephen begins 
again to write, the table moves again. Stephen gets up, and picks up Frank's hat 
from the floor ; shows it to Jenny, who tries to make him think it is his own. He 
shakes his head. She then puts it on as if it were her own. Stephen pokes about 
with his cane, and goes all over the room. When he goes by left of table, Frank 
kicks him ; he falls, then jumps up and pushes under the table with his cane. Frank 
rises to his feet, throws the cloth over Stephen's head, and runs away followed by 
Jenny. Stephen pursues them out of the room. 

Arranged by G. B. Bartlett. 



WORD SQUARE. — No. i. 
A market 
A definite space. 
A farmer's duty. 
A useful article. Belle Vannevar, 

CHARADE. — No. 2. 
When u shades of night are falling fast," 
My second on the fire we cast, 
And gather round with book and game ; 
Then flickers with unsteady flame 
My/rrf, while on my whole it stands, 
An emblem of life's wasting sands. 

Af. S. T. 



BEHEADINGS. — No 3. 
Behead a craft, and leave a kind of 
grain. Behead again, and leave a prepo- 
sition. Again, and behold a kind of drink. 
Ztr^m Walter Cushing % 

WORD SQUARE. — No. 4. 
My first is a meeting of sellers for trade. 
My second is a town where woollens are 
made. 

My third is a hard and durable metal. 
My fourth is for tenants with landlords 
to settle. 

Paul E. Marshall. 



ILLUSTRATED REBUS. — No. 5. 




/3 2S 




Jack Hazard. 



58 



The Evening Lamp. [January, 

GEOGRAPHICAL REBU SES.— No. 6. 




No. 7. 




W.Loew. 
WORD SQUARE. — No. 8. 
Close. 
Rest. 
Requests. 
Quiet Ida E. IV. 

ANIMALS FOR ANY ONE. —No. 9. 

1. What animal would a city like ? 

2. What animals did Dido like ? 

3. What animals do English yachtsmen 
like? 

4. What animal does the border ruffian 
like ? 

5. What animals would an Irish Pope 
like? 

6. What animal does a bald man like ? 

7. What animal do we all like for sup- 
per ? 

8. What animals does the miser like ? 

9. What animal do boarding-house 
keepers like ? Jack Straw. 



Ed. Ward. 

WORD SQUARE. — No. 10. 

1. A kind offish. 

2. Crippled. 

3. A response. 

4. To repair. 
Grace and Maude. 

ENIGMA. — No. 11. 
I am composed of 8 letters. 
My 3, 8, 5, is an animal. 
My 5, 2, 3, is made from a tree. 
My i, 4, 3, 8, is a girl's name. 
My- 6, 8, 3, belongs to a boat. 
My 7, 4, 1, is something we burn. 
My whole is a summer resort 

Mary Hayes, age 1 1. 

BURIED HEROES. — No 12. 

1. The Essequibo, one of the rivers o( 
South America, flows in a northerly 
course. 

2. The whole family of the colonel, 
son, daughter, and wife, were there. 

3. It is better that one should suffer 
alone than all endure the evil. 

4. The children's acorn wall is ingen- 
ious and picturesque. 

5. The King of Beasts bade Cat urge 
Dog and Rat do their duty. 

6. When you have locked the door, 
come to your dinner. 

7. You must put names enough to fill 
up the list. 

8. The blind man has to beg monthly to 
make up his rent. 

Helen F. More. 



18730 



The Evening Lamp. 



59 



A ROLL OF CLOTH. — No. 13. 

1. Has Annie ever heard of Iconium ? 
the Biblical Iconium, I mean. 

2. We saw a snake while we were in 
the woods, and were much frightened; 
bat Basil killed it with a stone. 

3. If you want something to drive that 
nail in with, there is a hammer in our 
kitchen cupboard. 

4- I went with Henry Prescott on a 
trip from New York to Niagara Falls. 

5. The drama will be rehearsed to- 
night ; do you know your part, Adela, 
in Evangeline ? 

6. When you pass through this thick- 
et, look out for your scalp ; acanthas are 
prickly. 

7. I opened the door, and met the 
butcher bringing ham for dinner. 

8. Last night there was a grand revel ; 
veteran and youth were there. 

9. You 've got a bite ; draw in your 
line, Nell. Lillian R W. 
CURIOUS COMPARISON.— No. 14. 

Positive. 
The prisoner pays the counsellor, a man 

of mighty mind : 
u Not guilty ! " is the verdict that the jury 
soon will find. 

Comparative. 
Bat when he's first accused of crime, how 

great is his alarm I 

He trembles and he quakes with fright, — 

but now he *s free from harm. 

Superlative. 

In gratitude he spreads the board, and 

asks the people all 
To join with him in taking cheer within 
the banquet hall. 

Jack Straw. 



ENIGMAS. — No. 15. 

I am composed of 1 1 letters. 
My 1st is found in her dimples, where 

witchery lies. 
My 2d in her nose turned up when a beau 

she spies. 
My 3d is found in her locks and wavy 

curls. 
My 4th in the trim parasol she jauntily 

whirls. 
My 5th in the nosegay she bears with the 

air of a flirt 
My 6th in the velvet that borders her 

gathered-up skirt 
My 7th is found in her heart, but not in 

her mind. 
My 8th in the ribbons that trail and 

draggle behind. 
My 9th in the damask she daily puts on 

to her face, 
In her diamonds, and in her cards in 

their ivory case. 
My ioth in her eyes and her ears, her fin- 
gers and toes. 
My nth in her hands, her knuckles, her 

rings, and her nose. 
The whole is a lady whose two-fold fame 

is complete, 
First known in a story, then often seen 

on the street. 

Bessie. 

NAMES OF BIRDS. — No. 16. 

1. A metal, a letter, and a measure. 

2. A color and a letter. 

3. A period of time, a preposition, and 
a wind-storm. 

4. To separate, and an elevation. 

5. A boy's nickname and a preposition. 

Ellie. 



ANSWERS. 



169. Peat, neat, seat, feat, meat 

170. IRON 
RIDE 
ODES 
NEST 

171. 1. Hayti x Porto Rico. 3. Newfound* 
land 4. Bermuda. 5. Zealand. 6. Ceylon. 7. 

172. ** Many a little makes a mickle." 

173. Book, nook, look, rook, cook. 

174. Cornwallis. 

175. Kansas. 

176. " Essay on Man," by Pope. 



177. It 's rectilinear (wreck, teal, in E R). 

178. A little darkey (dark e) in distress. 

179. R heumatic, — attic room. 

180. Raphael. 

181. 1. H. W. Bellows, H. W. Beecher. a. 
Martin Luther. \ H. B. Stowc. 4. Charles 
Dickens. 5. William Wordsworth. 6. U- S. 
Grant. 7. George F. Train. 8. Abraham Lin- 
coln 9. Thomas Carlylc. 10. Michael Angelo. 
xi. W. T. Sherman. 12. W. H. Prescott 13- 
W. H. Seward 14. O. W. Holmes. 15. Our 
Young Folks. 

18a. Tomsk, Omsk. 




TN answer to many inquiries from distant 
■*• friends, we arc happy to state that the pub- 
lishing house, from which this magazine goes 
forth on its monthly visits, was not consumed in 
the great Boston fire. The sea of flame rolled 
fearfully near us, and at one time it seemed as if all 
this part of the city must go down in the raging 
gulf that swallowed granite walls as if they had 
been pasteboard; but gunpowder, steam fire-en- 
gines, and an unlimited supply of Cochituate wa- 
ter at last prevailed. 

It was one of the great fires of this continent, — 
indeed, one of the great fires of the world. In a 
few hours property to the amount of one hundred 
milium dollars was destroyed. The finest busi- 
ness part of Boston, with its truly magnificent 
blocks, — literally palaces of stone and iron, —was 
swept away by the fiery tornado. Where towered 
those proud streets, nothing is now to be seen but 
tumbled, blackened ruins. Hundreds of prosper- 
ous merchants saw all their brilliant prospects 
vanish in an instant ; numbers were made home- 
less ; and thousands of men and women and boys 
and girls, depending upon their daily labor for 
support, were thrown out of employment. 

But this terrible calamity has also its gratifying 
aspects ; and when we see the glorious spirit of 
old Boston rising up undismayed, triumphant over 
disaster, and still more when we see how the 
heart of the whole country is thrilled with sym- 
pathy, — cities vying with each other in sending 
proffers of aid, — Chicago, so lately herself a suf- 
ferer, hastening to succor the houseless and im- 
poverished ; — when we witness all this, we thank 
God for the noble traits of humanity which, often 
unseen in the day of prosperity, come out in ad- 
versity like stars in the night. 

The publishers of "Our Young Folks" met 
with heavy losses in plates, presses, etc., which 
were in the burnt district ; but (as we set out to 
say) nothing essential to the prosperous continu- 
ance of this and their other periodicals was lost. 
And so we are enabled once more to send out 
from our comfortable corner a happy, a grateful 
New Year's greeting to all our friends. 

South Boston. Mass. 
Editors of " Our Young Folks " : — 

As we think little benefit is derived from mis- 
cellaneous reading, we wish to begin a systematic 



course ; and, as we know of no one more compe- 
tent to give advice on the subject, we come to yoa 
for aid, and would be very grateful for any sugges- 
tion you may give us. 

Yours truly, 
Thb " Boofsr Lady," 
" Bella Wilfer." 
"Amy Robsart." 

Monmouth. III., October 7, 187a. 
Editors of " Our Young Folks " : — 

I am a constant reader of your delightful maga- 
zine, and I think, of course, that it is the best one 
published 

I would like to ask you what course of reading 
you would recommend as likely to prove moat 
advantageous to me. I am (as perhaps I should 
have told you before) thirteen years of age. Al- 
though I am very fond of reading, I have never 
entered upon a regular course. I have usually 
been in the habit of picking up any book I come 
across, and if I think it will be a good one I read 
it, and then lay it aside for another. But I am 
doubtful as to whether that is the most instructive 
plan, and I should be pleased to know what yoa 
think of it, and what books you would begin on. 
Yours truly, 

" Frank." 

We have recently received several letters like 
the two given above ; as it is impossible to answer 
each separately, we will here say a few words to 
all interested in the important subject of reading. 

In the first place, read carefully Rev. E. E. 
Hale's two papers entitled " How to Read," pub- 
lished in the August and October numbers of 
" Our Young Folks," 1869. If you have not the 
numbers, send to the publishers for them. We 
can add little to the excellent counsel he gives you 
there. He does not choose books for you, for he 
does not know each reader's peculiar wants : but 
he tells you how to choose them for yourselves ; 
and he indicates different courses of reading for 
persons of different tastes. 

A little choice fiction and miscellaneous reading 
is to be recommended to every one who has the 
time for it But no one aiming at self-culture 
should stop there. Whatever course of general 
reading you adopt, there are certain books which 
you cannot afford to neglect. A little history, 
biography, and popular science are necessary to 



i873] 



Our Later Box. 



6l 



every one If yon wish to make an easy step 
from romance to fact, read Macaulay's, Motley's, 
Prescott's, living's, Parkman's, historical works, 
which you will often find more interesting than 
any fiction. With the history of your own country 
yon will of course acquaint yourself. The lives 
of eminent men and women are always instruc- 
tive : and so are good books of travel. Read the 
poets, not carelessly, but studiously, — especially 
Milton, Pope, Goldsmith, Wordsworth, Burns, 
Scott, Byron, Coleridge, Keats, Tennyson, and 
our own Bryant, Whittier, Longfellow, etc. 
Master a single play of Shakespeare's, — say The 
Tempest ; get to understand the imagery, the 
characters, the art of its construction, and to feel 
the spirit that pervades the whole, and you will 
already have accomplished a great thing for your 
mental cultivation. Read the essays of Elia 
(Charles Lamb), and those of Carlyle if you are 
op to them. You will have touched the flower 
of human genius when you have learned to appre- 
ciate Emerson. 

To many minds much modern scientific writing 
is as interesting as romance ; and to all who have 
any taste that way we would recommend the works 
of Lyell, Tyndall, Darwin, and Hugh Miller. Al- 
most every one will find the books in Scribuer 
and Company's Wonder Library both entertain- 
ing and instru<tive. 

Id conclusion, remember that any book worth 
reading at all is worth reading more than once. 
A great help will be found in good books of refer- 
ence, — particularly a good dictionary, an atlas 
of the world, and a cyclopaedia, in which one 
should always, if possible, look for explanations 
of those things in his reading which he does not 
readily understand. 

Lizzie L. Smith sends us the following receipt 
for making skeleton leaves ; it came with an an- 
swer to the question regarding leaves and ferns, 
too late for notice last month, 

M First dissolve four ounces of common washing- 
soda in a qnart of boiling water ; then add two 
ounces of slacked quicklime, and boil for about 
fifteen minutes. Allow the solution to cool ; after- 
ward pour off all the clear liquor into a clean 
saocepan. When this liquor is at its boiling point, 
place the leaves in the pan, and boil the whole 
together for an hour, adding from time to time 
enough water to make up for the loss of evapora- 
tion. The epidermis and parenchyma of some 
leaves will more readily separate than others. A 
good test is to try the leaves after they h*ve been 
gently boiling for an hour, and if the cellular mat- 
ter does not easily rub off betwixt the thumb and 
finger beneath cold wateT, boil them again for a 
short time. When the fleshy matter is found to 
be sufficiently softened, rub them separately but 
very gently beneath cold water, until the perfect 



skeleton is exposed. The skeletons, at first, are of 
a dirty white color ; to make them of a pure white, 
and therefore more beautiful, all that is necessary 
is to bleach them in a weak solution of chloride 
of lime, — a large teaspoon fu) of chloride of lime to 
a quart of water ; if a few drops of vinegar are 
added to the solution, it is all the better, for then 
the free chloride is liberated. Do not allow them 
to remain too long in the bleaching-liquor, or they 
become too brittle, and cannot be handled without 
injury. About fifteen minutes will be sufficient to 
make them white and clean looking. Dry the 
specimens in white blotting paper, beneath a 
gentle pressure. Simple leaves are the best for 
young beginners to experiment upon ; the vine, 
poplar, the beach, ivy leaves, make excellent skele- 
tons. Care must be exercised in the selection of 
leaves, as well as the period of the year, and the 
state of the atmosphere when the specimens are 
collected, otherwise failure will be the result. The 
best months to gather the specimens are July and 
August. Never collect specimens in damp weath- 
er ; and none but perfectly matured leaves ought 
to be selected." 

Dear "Young Folks": — 

I did not notice Alice C Tuck's question about 
preserving leaves, or I would have answered it 
before. But if it will not be out of order, I wish 
this might be inserted in the January number, as 
I think that it is prettier than any described in the 
December : — 

Put two or three large cakes of white wax into 
a kettle, placed on the stove where it will be as 
hot as possible without boiling. Dip the bright 
autumn leaves into this, and then shake them 
over a paper to shake off any drops. They will 
dry in a few moments, and, not having been 
pressed, will keep their natural shape. These 
will last until the next season. 

G. S. T. 

Dear " Young Folks " : — 

I want to tell you something about Versailles, 
where I am spending the summer. The palace and 
park are the objects of the greatest interest ; I sup- 
pose you all know who built and laid them out ; 
Louis XIV., " Ie Grand Monarque," whose reign 
was one of the most glorious for France. 

As you enter the main court, from the "Avenue 
de Paris," you will observe that it is adorned with 
numerous statues of the warriors and admirals of 
France, — Turcnne, Conde", Duguesclin, etc At 
the upper end of the court is the palace, built of 
red brick and white marble, with those peculiar 
French roofs which are so common in this coun- 
try. On the two wings of the palace are inscribed 
these words : " A Toutes les Gloires de la France." 
Directly in front of the palace is the statue of 
Louis XIV. in bronze, on horseback, and larger 
than Hie. 



6 4 



Our Letter Box. 



[January. 



era, as no small number of those who go to our 
school take your magazine. 

Always wishing you welfare and success, I re- 
main, 

Yours truly, 

N. A. G. Shepard. 

Answers, x. We do not publish any paper for 
young people, thinking it best to concentrate all 
our energies upon " Our Young Folks." 

a. We do not know of any book which teaches 
ventriloquism. That is something which, we 
think, must be learned from practice, with, if pos- 
sible, the aid of a teacher. 

3. We think it an excellent idea to publish in 
"Our Young Folks" short and spicy pieces 
adapted for speaking, and would like to make this 
a feature of our magazine, if we could find such 
as are not already hackneyed. Will any of our 
readers, who have discovered fresh pieces of the 
sort, have the kindnesa to send them to us? We 
will gladly print them in the "Letter Box," if 
suitable, and not too long. 

New Books. — " Camping Out, as recorded by 
Kit." is the title of a fresh and racy book of ad- 
venture by C. A. Stephens, whose career as a 
writer has been watched with interest by our 
readers ever since the appearance of his first 
sketch in Our Young Contributors' department, be- 
tween two and three years ago. That first sketch, 
though written by a lad still in his " teens," 
showed a remarkably steady hand, a sense of 
humor, and a mind well stored with observation 
and experience. For a young writer, his style was 
singularly free from verbiage and affectation ; and 
if sometimes it appeared a little coarse in flavor, 
it was because he drew his inspiration from actual 
life amid the scenes he described, and not from 
books. 

" Camping Out " is a record of the adventures 
of four young fellows in the wilds of Maine, where 
they met with all sorts of strange and funny expe- 
riences with wild animals and wild nature, de- 
scribed in the author's characteristic manner. 
Live boys will be delighted with the book. The 
sketch of " A Sooty Thunderbolt," which appears 
in the present number of " Our Young Folks," is 
one of these " Camping Out " adventures not in- 
cluded in the* volume. 

" Dolly's Resolutions, or Letters from Abroad,' 
by Hannah Maria, is a book more especially de- 
signed for girls, and which our Young Folks, 
who have read it, pronounce "splendid." In it 
some well-written descriptions of scenes in foreign 
countries are blended with an interesting domestic 
story, the whole having an excellent and whole- 
some moral. Published by Claxon, Remson, & 
Haffelfinger, Philadelphia. 

With the publication of " Gareth and Lynette" 
is completed the most noteworthy series of poems 
in modern literature, — " The Idyls of the King," 



by Tennyson. To our more advanced and 
thoughtful readers, — to all those aiming at a high 
culture, — these magnificent epic books are rec- 
ommended as objects of study and enjoyment 
which they cannot afford to lose. J. R. Osgood 
& Co., publishers. 

Our Young Contributors. Accepted articles : 
" IV hat I know about Paper- Making," by George 
P. Whittlesey; "An Excursion to Tivoli,"* by 
S. P. C. ; "Chickadee," by Eudora M. Stone; 
"A Child's Morning Song" by Morna May; 
and " A Question," by Alice E. Worcester. 

Again this month, as usual, this department 
overflows with the favors of our young correspon- 
dents ; and the following articles, all of them good, 
are crowded into our second list, — that of honor- 
able mention : — " What I know about Blue Fish- 
ing" by Bilboquet ; "Faith under the Maple" 
by Alice M. E. ; " Flowers," by Charlotte Lay 
Dewey ; "A Dream Fete," by V. C. H. ; " The 
Week before Christmas," ■ by C. T. ; " ML 
Washington in the Rain," by Winogene ; 
"Lines to my Brother," by Helen ; "A Good- 
night," by Virginia; " Fontaiuebleau," by W. 
H. Hubbard ; " Under the Ocean," by Clare ; 
" Two Literary Girls," by Edith A. Lane ; 
" Success in Life," by Annabel Arnold ; ** From 
Boston to Quebec," by Will ; and " Picnicking," 
by Nellie H. Pettit. 

" Messenger's Landing " is correctly written 
but has the fatal defect of being uninteresting. 
The writer asks, " May I try again ? " Certainly ; 
the repeated efforts of young contributors will 
always be kindly welcomed and considered. 

Rebuses designed to compete for the prize of- 
fered in our November number continue to come 
in — slowly — as we close this month's Letter Box. 
Next month the prize will be awarded. Some 
of our correspondent's efforts are quite ingenious ; 
and they have convinced us that we cannot apply 
to rebuses the words of wisdom which declare that 
there is— 




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BURNETT'S COCOAINE, 

For Promoting the Growth and Preserving the Beauty of 

THE HUMAN HAIR. 



Wo other Compound 

possesses the peculiar properties irhiehto exactly soli 
the various conditions of the human hair. 

It soften* the hair warn aorta cad aVy. 

It soothes the irritated scalp. 

It afford* the richest lustre. 

It remain* longest in effect. 

It prevent* the hair from failing off. 

It promote* it* healthy, vigorous growth. 

It u not greasy or sticky. 

" ' r disagreeable odor. 



Dandruff*. 

Borrox, October 30. 
I hare need less than a bottle of your Cocoaine. 
The dandruff and the irritation which caused It, have 
entirely disappeared, and my hair was never before In 
to good condition. A. A. FULLER. 

Baldness. 

Bostom , November 20. 
After using one bottle of your Cocoaine, my bald 
pate is covered all over with young hair, about three 
eighth! of an loch long, which appears strong and 
healthy and determined to grow. 

D. T. MKBWIN. 



Lose) of Hair. 

Rostov, July to. 
The lint application allayed the itching and Irrita- 
tion ; in three or four daya the rednetsand tenderness 
disappeared, the hair ceased to fail, and I have now a 
thick growth of new hair. SUSAN B. POPS. 

Irritation of the Scalp. 

Watssvillb, Mb>, September 16. 
To my surprise, the Cocoaine has entirely removed 
the irritation of so long standing. I have recom- 
mended it to several of my friends, who were afflicted 
In the same way, and it has wholly eradicated the 
disease. JOSEPH HILL, Ja. 

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Flectrotyped and Printed at the Unlvwlty Pren, Cambridge, by Welch, Blgelow. & Co, 



Number 9S. 












AN ILLUSTRATED MACAZINElfe 

El BOYS *«» GIRLS lAfeS 







"A^ 



BOSTON: 
;OOD AND COMPANY, 

La j >sgood, k Ca 



tion Oi R Nrw York City and Brook 



CONTENTS. 

Page 
Doing his Best J. T. Trowbridge ... 65 

Chap. IV. How Byron Dinks kept School. 
" V. A New "Tib" sktwkbn Jack and Prim. 
*• VI. How Jack got into a Fight. 

( With two Illustrations.) 

More about Constellations George S. Jones .... 75 

Block Houses (Poem) Mrs. A. M. Wells ... 80 

{With an Illustration.) 

What Madam Talbot Saw Mrs. Nellie Eysier ... 82 

< With afuUpagt Illustration.) 

Pigs and Guinea Pigs, and what they 

paid for Mrs. S. B. C. Samuels . 89 

About Boston Augustus Holmes ... 94 

{With tkirUen Illustrations.) 

Life (Poem) A. I. M. 101 

The Flying Betsey C A. Stephens .... 103 

Clarence Shank's Adventure S. P. Prichard .... 109 

Our Young Contributors. 113 

An Exciting Race By " Filbert:* 

A Vi-.it to an Almshouse. By D. M. JT. 

The Chickadee (Poem). By Eudora May Stont. 

Sacro Bambino. By "Bilbquet" 

At the Fair. By C E. M. 

The Young Lexicographers. By Berttie Clark. 

The Evening Lamp 121 

Containing an Acting Charade, — Vowel ; Illustrated Rebut, Geographical Puule, Metagram, 
Prize Rebus, Anagram Blank, Enigmas, Word Squares, Answers, etc 

Our Letter Box 126 

Containing Notice by the Editor, Letters from Correspondents and Answers, etc 

THE MARCH NUMBER 

Will contain three chapters of '• Doing his Best," showing how Jack parted from Mas- 
ter Dinks under very peculiar circumstances, and met an old friend; an interesting 
Indian adventure, — " The Story of Florinda/*— by Mrs. A. M, Diaz; a talk about 
"Thunder and Lightning," by N. A. Eliott; "Young Abe," — a story of the boyhood 
of a remarkable man ; and other stories, sketches, and poems, by C. A. Stephens, Eliz- 
abeth Akers Allen, and others. 



TO SUBSCRIBERS. 



EST" Every letter on business relating to " Our Young Folks " should have the name of the Statb aa 
well as the Post-Office from which it comes. 

Persons ordering a change in direction of magazines should always give both the old and the new address 
in pull. And notice of the desired change should be given before the 5th of any month, in order that 
magazines for the following month may bear the proper direction. 

TERMS. —The price of Our Young Folks is $9.00 per year. No club terms. An extra copy gratia 
for every five subscriptions. Our Young Folks and Atlantic Monthly, $ 5.00 per year. 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, Publishers, 
Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co., 

124 Tremont Street, Boston,, 







AT MOUNT VERNON. 



Drawn by Augustus Hoppin.] 



[See " Madam Talbot's Story." 



OUR YOUNG FOLKS. 

An Illustrated Magazine 
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 



Vol. IX. 



FEBRUARY, 1873. 



No. II. 



DOING HIS BEST. 
CHAPTER IV. 

HOW BYRON DINKS KEPT SCHOOL. 

'HEN, on that first Monday morning, Byron 
Dinks set out, ruler in hand, to take control 
of the district school, his old uncle, Squire 
Peternot, had said to him, " I would n't have 
ye fail this winter, Byron, for any consider- 
ation. Remember, you 're in my own dees- 
trict, and 't was through me ye got the ap- 
pointment Your edecation 's good enough ; 
but edecation ain't everything. T ain't so much 
matter how or what ye teach, as how ye govern. 
Mustn't let the scholars run over ye, whatever 
else ye do. Ye must punish, and let 'em know ye 
ain't afraid to punish. That 's my fust and last 
piece of advice to you." 

Byron, for once in his life, had taken his uncle's 
advice to heart If the necessity of much using 
the rod is an evidence of weakness in a master, 
then Dinks was weak enough ; though he flat- 
tered himself that by his severity he was showing 
his strength. We have seen how he began the 
discipline of the little ones ; from which beginning he went on to worse and 
worse extremes. He made use of about all the means of punishment with 
which he was acquainted, and then invented new, until the aspect of his 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Jambs R. Osgood & Co., in the Office 
of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
VOL. DL — NO. n. 5 




66 Doing his Best [February, 

school-room at almost any hour of the day would have been curious to 
behold. If we would witness a style of school-keeping which prevailed thirty 
years ago, but which, we are glad to believe, is fast going out of fashion, let 
us look in upon Byron in his little domain. 

It is a bright December morning, and school has just been called. The 
boys and girls, who were crowding about the stove when the ruler rapped, 
now range themselves on opposite sides of the room in double rows. 

" Rap ! " goes the ruler. " Samuel Narmore ! whispering ? " 

" Did n't know school had begun," stammers the culprit 

" What was you saying to Moses Chatford ? " 

" Not much of anything," — with a sheepish grin. 

" Not much of anything ! " — sarcastically. " Very important you should 
break the rules aginst whispering, to communicate not much of anything. 
What did he say to you, Moses ? " 

" I don't like to tell," says Moses. 

" You must tell ! I command you ! " 

" He said it was n't quite nine o'clock yet" 

" What else ? You would n't have had any objection to saying that Out 
with the rest." 

" He said," — Moses hesitates, repressing a smile, — " he said you called 
school before the time so as to get the crowd away from the stove and have 
a chance there yourself!" 

As Moses concludes his explanation, the smile expands into a pretty 
broad one, and an audible giggle runs around the school-room. 

" Samuel Narmore," says the master, trying to maintain his cool and sar- 
castic manner, but making rather ghastly work of it, "go and hold down 
that nail in the floor ; I see there 's danger of its coming out." 

What Samuel is really required to do is to stoop over, crooking his knees 
as little as possible, and place the tip of his finger on the head of a nail, 
which shines from the polish imparted to it by numerous shoe-soles and 
many an unfortunate previous finger. The posture is a peculiarly awkward 
one to Samuel, who is tall and ungainly. His legs do not conform to the 
master's idea of straightness ; who, to help the matter, gives a resounding 
slap with his ruler upon that part which the pupil's attitude elevates into 
undue prominence. 

A howl from Samuel, who pitches forward upon one hand/while he puts 
up the other, either to defend or soothe the injured spot. 

tt You hain't got your book," then says the master. "Moses, hand his 
book. Here, take this and look over your reading lesson so you won't 
miss a word. Must n't neglect business for pleasure. Reuben and Amos, 
I '11 hear you read. All study ; no looking off from books." 

Reuben and Amos, two little ones learning their letters, come and stand 
by the master's side as he sits in his chair by the stove. He points to the 
page, while he watches the school. Suddenly the ruler is let fly at a young- 
ster whose eyes are seen to wander from his book. It strikes him on the 
knee, and falls clattering to the floor. 



1873J Doing his Best. 67 

" Herbert Cone, bring me that ruler ! " The ruler is brought by a limp- 
ing and trembling wretch. " Hold out your hand" The reluctant hand is 
extended ; a blow and a yelL " Take your seat and mind your book," says 
Mr. Byron Dinks. 

By this time the young man who is combining business with pleasure by 
holding the nail in the floor while he studies his lesson, shows violent symp- 
toms of weakening. Now his tortured finger gives way, and for one desperate 
instant he rests his weight upon the knuckles of his hand. Now his ex- 
cruciated legs succumb, and for one blissful moment of forgetfulness he sits 
upon his heels. Again, attempting to straighten, he quite overdoes the 
thing, and lifts his finger so far that the nail might come out of the floor, 
for anything he has to do with holding it down. All this time he dares not 
glance at the master, but keeps his eyes on his book, held in his other hand. 

" Tip Tarbox is lookin' ofiV' says a squeaking voice from the girls' side 
of the house. 

" How do you know, Laury ? " asks the schoolmaster. 

" I seen him," says Laura. 

" How could you see him without looking off yourself ? " 

" I jest looked one eye off," is the maiden's amusing explanation. 

"Jest looked one eye off, and kep' the other on your book, did ye? 
Let me see how you did it" 

More than one eye, and more than one pair of eyes, involuntarily turn 
to see Laura perform this interesting feat The result is not wholly satis- 
factory. She looks up with both eyes, and down with both, and winks and 
twists, and blushes violently, and at last whimpers, " I thought I did." 

" Thought you did 1 Well, you appear so much interested in his affairs, 
you may go over and set with him till recess. Take down your apron ! 
Start, if you don't want help from me ! " 

Help from the master under such circumstances not being thought desir- 
able, Laura drops her apron, but puts up her elbow in its place, to hide her 
shame, and with a bashful, sidelong gait, goes over to sit with the boys. 

Seeing nearly all eyes off their books by this time, Master Dinks relaxes 
the rigidity of his rule, the more readily as he would not like to punish some 
of the large girls. 

" Tip 's a ticklin' me ! " cries Laura. 

"O, I ain't ! " says Tip, earnestly. " I was jest p'intin' my finger at her 
to shame her." 

"Tend to your lessons, both of ye," says the master, "or I '11 do sdme 
ticklin' ye won't like." Then to the little ones learning their letters : " Can't 
tell what letter that is, after I 've told you fifty times ! " And, holding a 
turkey-quill by the feather-end, he applies the quill part smartly to the 
heads of the unhappy urchins. " There ! now go and set on the stove- 
hearth until you can remember that the letter which looks like a snake 
climbing a pole is R." 

u Laury 's a hittin' me ! " cries Tip Tarbox. 

"He pinched me ! " squeaks Laura. 



68 Doing his Best [February, 

u Come here, both of ye ! " says Byron, with a sinister smile. As the cul- 
prits tremblingly approach, not knowing what fate awaits them, he opens his 
table-drawer, and tells them to put their heads in. " Here, turn your face 
towards your dear friend Laury; Laury, turn your lovely countenance 
towards Edward. Now, don't let me hear from you agin till I come and take 
your heads out" So saying, he closes the drawer upon their necks, ties 
their hands behind them, and leaves them, standing and stooping in that 
ridiculous posture, viewing each other's charms of feature by the light that 
comes in through the opening. 

" Phin Chatford 's a cuttin' the bench 1 " says a small voice from the front 
seat ; among the occupants of which the opinion prevails, that, if punish- 
ment is a good thing, it must be a virtue in them to bring each other and 
their elders to grief. 

" Phineas Chatford, bring me your knife ! " says the master. 

" 'T ain't my knife, it 's Jack's." 

"Jack should keep his knife in his pocket," says the master, confiscating 
the same. As he has long been watching for a chance to show his spite 
against Jack, and as Phin is a son of one of the trustees, this seems, to the 
mind of Byron, a very satisfactory settlement of the matter. 

Jack, however, takes a different view of it. " He said he wanted my knife 
to sharpen a pencil with." 

" O, you keep a knife to lend, do ye ? Then I *11 borrow it" 

u I don't object to lending it to fellows that will give it back to me," says 
Jack. 

" Sassy ! " cries Byron, sharply. " Call me a feller, do ye ? " 

"I was speaking of the boys? answers Jack; "and I said fellows, not 
fellers? He is sure of that, the correct pronunciation of that word being 
one of the many things which his dear friend Annie Felton has taught him. 

" You may go and set on nothing against the door," is the master's sen- 
tence, Jack hardly knows for what 

It is his first punishment, and his hot heart rebels against it For a 
moment he hesitates, his eyes blazing with a fiery sense of the injustice 
done him. But something within him whispers, " Obey 1 " Book in hand, 
he marches to the door, which is closed and latched, and takes a sitting 
posture with his back against it, but with no other support, — a painful 
and humiliating position. Since he became the champion of Step Hen 
Treadwell, he has enemies in school, who are delighted to see him " in a 
fix " ; but, strangely enough, no one enjoys his disgrace more than Phin 
Chatford. 

Master Dinks, walking about the school-room, now takes occasion, as he 
passes in the rear of young Narmore, to hit him smartly with his ruler, 
saying at the same time, " Take your seat ! what are you here for ? You 
ain't worth a cent to hold down a nail. — Primer class take their places. 
Toe the mark ! Remember the turkey-quill ! " which simple instrument of 
petty torture he warningly waves in the air. 

While the primer class is preparing to recite, Byron turns to the urchins 



18730 



Doing his BesU 



69 




Master DinkVs School 

on the stove-hearth, and, pointing out to them a capital R, asks, "Now 
can you tell me what letter that is ? " 

" Snake climbin* a pole ! " is the prompt reply. 

The turkey-quill is raised, but, luckily for the urchins, there is that in 
their answer which sets Mr. Dinks and the whole school to laughing, and 
they get off with a light punishment as they are sent to their seats. 

The trials of the primer class are interrupted by a terrible crash, which 
causes the schoolmaster almost to "jump out of his boots," as Phin after- 
wards declares. He turns, and sees a ludicrous sight, at which the school 
breaks forth into a roar. 

The authors of this diversion are Laura and Tip, who have carried on 
hostilities even after their heads have been shut in the table-drawer. First 
Laura made faces at Tip. Tip returned the compliment. Then Laura made 
a worse face. Tip beat that, and had a good deal of lip to spare. If her 
hands had been at liberty, Laura would now have given him a taste of her 
nails, and perhaps have relieved him of a flaxen lock or two. As it was, she 
had but one effective weapon left : she spit in his face ! 

Human nature in the shape of a boy nine years old never could stand 
that. Tip flew at her, with intent to bite her nose ; and the result was that 
Tip, Laura, table-drawer, table, a pile of books, the master's hat, two apples, 
and an inkstand all rolled on the floor together. 

Jack, from his seat on nothing against the door, springs to right the table 



jo Doing his Best [February, 

and pick up the hat and books, and is afterwards allowed to return to his 
seat — not on nothing, but on something — unquestioned. 

Tip and Laura pick themselves up, and are immediately seized by the 
master, who knocks their mischievous heads together in lively fashion. 
They are then sent snivelling to their seats. 



CHAPTER V. 

A NEW " TIE " BETWEEN JACK AND PHIN. 

The effect of Jack's first punishment in school was not wholesome. " If 
I am to be punished for nothing," thought he, " what 's the use of my try- 
ing so hard to behave well ?" For it was not so much the fear of penalty 
which had kept him hitherto in the strait path of discipline, as a certain 
pride he felt in being a good scholar. That pride was broken down ; a 
public disgrace had been the reward of all his devotion to his studies and 
his conscientious regard for the rules. He had not a saintly disposition ; 
he was a boy, with all a boy's weaknesses and passions ; and I am sorry to 
say that this injustice left in his heart a burning sense of resentment against 
Master Dinks. 

" Jack Hazard, are you whispering ? " said the master, after recess, that 
very forenoon. 

" Yes, sir," said Jack, promptly. 

" What was you saying ? " 

" I said « I thought so.' " 

"Thought what?" 

" That is all I said, — ' I thought so ' : just those words." 

" Thought what ? " the master again demanded, very angrily. 

" That what Phin said was so." 

" No nicknames in school ! " exclaimed Byron. " His name is Phineas. 
You know that, and you know the rule." 

" Yes, sir ; but you just called me Jack, and my real name is John." 

" Come here, you sass-box ! " cried Mr. Dinks, seizing his ruler. Jack 
marched straight up to him, and looked him in the face. " Tell me now 
what Phineas said to you, this instant, before I thrash you within an inch 
of your life!" 

" If I must," replied Jack, — " he asked me if I did n't think you showed 
partiality to the big girls, and I said, 'Yes, I thought so.' That was all." 

Sensation in the school-room. Mr. Dinks turned furiously to Phin. "Step 
out here ! " 

Phin did not stir, but looked all about him, as if anxious to discover the 
person thus addressed. He also appeared much concerned for that person's 
present comfort and safety. 

" Phineas Chatford ! " And the master hurled his ruler. 

" O, speak to me ? " faltered Phin, starting up with a wild look. 

" Fetch me that ruler ! " cried Dinks, while all the school looked breath- 
lessly on, expecting to witness a tragedy. 



1873] Doing his Best 7 1 

Bat it took Phin some time to find the oaken missile, which had fallen 
under the small boys' bench ; and by the time he brought it the master 
had cooled enough to remember that young Chatford was a son of one of 
the trustees. It is impossible to say what a blistering of hands both young- 
sters might have received, but for this timely recollection. As it was, how- 
ever, it would not do to let them off without " making an example of them " ; 
for they had not only broken the rule against whispering, but had made 
him the subject of disparaging remarks. 

" You think I am partial, do you ? " said he, regarding the two boys with 
angry eyes, while he held the ruler behind him as if fearful he might be 
tempted to use it 

" I did n't say so," whimpered Phin. At that Jack gave such a start, and 
turned and looked at him with such astonishment and indignation, that the 
prevaricating youngster suddenly remembered the unhappy consequences 
of another lie of his, and added quickly, "I — I said — I thought Smith 
Marston was partial to the big girls, and he misunderstood me to say the 
master" 

A stranger in the school-room would have been able, at that moment, to 
select the said Smith Marston from among his companions as unerringly 
as Joan of Arc discerned her king. It could have been no other than the 
tall, red-haired, and very red-faced youth, upon whom all eyes were just then 
turned with visible pleasure. 

" Silence ! " cried Byron, as a rustle and titter circulated among the pupils. 
" Whatever you said, it was whispering. Give me your thumbs ! " 

A stout piece of twine hung over a spike in the wall above the blackboard. 
One end of this cord he tied by a running noose to Jack's right thumb, 
which he then drew up high above the lad's head. He then prepared a 
similar noose at the other end, and made Phin reach up and put his left 
thumb through it The second noose was then drawn tight ; and there the 
boys stood before the blackboard, facing the school, with their upstretched 
hands hung by the thumbs. 

The pain was not very great at first, but it soon became tiresome business 
holding the arms in this way ; and when they were suffered to droop, the 
cord cut 

Phin had recovered from his terror on finding that he was to escape the 
ruler ; and he underwent the first part of his punishment with smiling equa- 
nimity. Jack looked stern and determined : he was thinking that, if he ever 
got big enough, he would seek out Mr. Byron Dinks, and give him a sound 
drubbing. Many a boy has cherished such feelings of revenge against his 
master ; but I never knew of but one case in which the vengeance was actu- 
ally executed in later years. A gentleman was once promenading the streets 
of a certain village in company with some ladies, when a second gentleman 
stepped up and accosted him : " Your name is Swan. My name is Dixon. 
You taught school at Ladd's Crossing one winter. I went to school to you, 
and you licked me unmercifully for a little fault. I always said I would pay 
you, and I am here to do it." So saying, Dixon beat Swan smartly over 



72 Doing his Best [February, 

the shoulders with a stout cane, twirled him about, pitched him into a mud- 
puddle, and walked off Many a lad has done just this thing in imagination ; 
but the school-boy wrath of the most of us, it is to be hoped, cools beneath 
the Ming snows of time, until, like Jack, we remember our wrongs with a 
smile, and take our revenge in a jest I have heard our hero many a time 
relate his trials under Master Dinks ; but the brier of that rough experience 
bears to-day only a laughing rose. 

" You got me punished ! " muttered Phin, resentfully, when the master's 
back was turned. 

" I could n't help it," answered Jack. 

" *T was real mean ! " said Phin. 

" Almost as mean as trying to get out of the scrape by lying," retorted Jack. 

" Come ! don't pull so hard ! I '11 give your thumb a jerk ! " But Phin 
soon found that the jerk was as painful to his own thumb as to Jack's. 

" That 's right," whispered Jack. " Keep up that motion, and the nail 
will saw the string in two." A proposal which pleased Phineas. 

" Nancy Beman and Sally Buel 's whisperin' ! " said a half-grown girl on 
the front seat. 

" And you are talking out loud ! " cried the master. Nancy Beman and 
Sally Buel being two of the girls towards whom he was charged with show- 
ing partiality, the manner in which he now passed over their fault, and 
wreaked his wrath upon the spirit of tale-telling, which he commonly en- 
couraged, did not pass unnoticed. " Come here, Mariar ! I 've seen ye 
• playing and whispering half the forenoon," he added, to justify his severity. 
" Stand here, and hold out these books." 

" Mariar," stationed by the table, extended her arm horizontally at full 
length, supporting on her hand a pile of three books. " Now, don't ye crook 
yer arm, or let the books slip off!" But even while Byron spoke, down 
went one of the books to the floor. He replaced it, giving her arm a smart 
rap. " Put down your other hand ! Take your knuckles out of your eyes ! 
Now mind what you 're about ! " 

But to keep the arm straight, in a horizontal position, with a weight of 
books in the- hand, is not simply a hard thing for a girl of twelve ; it is an 
impossible thing for any person to do for many minutes at a time. The 
arm will crook, or the hand will rise or sink, to gain some respite for the 
aching muscles. Byron was probably aware of this, and perhaps his heart 
relented towards " Mariar," for he soon permitted her to keep her arm in 
any attitude she chose, provided the books did not fall. 

In the mean time Jack and Phin, by keeping up a constant friction on the 
string when the master's back was turned, had at last sawed it in two. 
They had been standing for some minutes with their hands at their sides, 
when he chanced to see them. 

" String 's come in two," said Phin, innocently, looking as if he would 
regard it as a great favor if some benevolent person would replace it 

" Second class in 'rithm'tic," said Master Dinks. u You may take your 
places," — to Jack and Phin, who made haste to slip the loops off their 
thumbs and run. 



1873] 



Doing his Best. 



73 



CHAPTER VI. 



HOW JACK GOT INTO A FIGHT. 

In consequence of these and other punishments received, Jack soon lost 
not only much of his own self-respect as a scholar, but his influence among 
the other boys began to decline. 

For a long time nobody had dared lay rude hands on Step Hen Treadwell 
while Jack was near. But now one noontime, coming out of the school- 
house, he saw a cap flying in the air from hand to hand over a mob of boys, 
while one bareheaded, chubby fellow pursued it, screaming, " Give it up ! 
give me my cap ! " That little fellow was Step Hen. 

Jack rushed into the midst of the crowd, and made a lunge for the cap 
as it fell to the ground. Lon Gannett rushed for it at the same time, and 
succeeded in seizing it first. He was about to throw it, when Jack grasped 
his wrist " Don't ye throw that cap ! " 

'.' You jest le' go my arm, you off-scourin' of the tow-path ! " said Lon, 
struggling to get away. 

" Don't ye throw that cap ! " Jack repeated, warningly, holding fast 

" I '11 throw it, for all you ! " said Lon, trying to take it in his other hand. 
" Come ! I 've been bullied by you long enough. You begun to put upon 
me the fust day of school." 

" Mind your own business, and don't try to bully smaller boys, and nobody 




The Beginning of the Fight 



74 Doing his Best [February, 

will trouble you, at least I won't," said Jack. "But I gave notice some 
time ago that I was going to stand by this little shaver ; and now if you run 
over him, you run over me ; that 's all. Drop that cap ! " 

Jack was so determined and so cool, and at the same time he gave Lon's 
wrist such a wrench, that somehow the cap was let fall; and Step Hen 
snatched it from the ground. 

" O Lon ! O Lon ! give up so ! " cried half a dozen voices, — one being 
that of Phin Chatford. 

" I hain't gi'n up ! " said Lon. " He took advantage of me. Come ! " 
bristling up to Jack. "Ye want to fight?" 

" Not particularly," said Jack. " Anything to accommodate ye, though." 

"Hit me, if ye dare!" 

" I don't know what I should hit ye for, if I do dare. You 've dropped 
the cap ; that 's all I asked." 

Lon looked around till he found a small chip, which he placed on his 
shoulder, and then sidled fiercely up to Jack. 

" You don't da's to knock that chip off my shoulder ! " he said, tauntingly. 

" I 've nothing to do with your shoulder : you may put a pile of chips on 
it, if you like ; I sha' n't take the trouble to knock 'em off." 
. " Come I le' me see ye touch it ! You 're afraid ! you 're afraid ! " cried 
Lon. "I dare ye!" 

" Look here ! " said Jack. " I did n't come out to fight I don't believe 
in fighting, unless it 's in self-defence or to defend somebody else. Keep 
out of my way, and let Step Hen alone, and I '11 give ye a wide berth." 
And he walked off. 

" Why did n't ye pitch into him ? " said one of Lon's mates. " You 're 
bigger 'n he is ; you can handle him." 

" I did n't want to begin it I dared him to knock the chip off my shoul- 
der ; if he had done it, I 'd have showed ye ! Who was it said I give in 
to him ? You 're the feller ! " And Lon, feeling the necessity of airing his 
courage, marched up to Phin Chatford. 

" Oh ! I ain't ! I did n't ! " screamed Phin. 

" You did ! You said I was afraid of him. I '11 let ye know who 's afraid ! " 

" Help ! help ! Jack ! help ! " yelled Phineas, running towards the school- 
house with Lon at his heels. 

" What 's the row ? " asked Jack. 

Just as he was entering the door Phin dodged past him, screaming, " He 's 
going to lick me ! don't let him ! " and, darting into the corner of the entry, 
behind the door, he pulled the door back against the wall to cover him. 
Lon grasped the door, and was about to wrench it from Phin's hold, when 
Jack planted his foot against-it 

" Take away your foot ! " said Lon. 

" My foot is n't in your way," Jack replied. " There 's plenty of room for 
you to pass in and out I 'm standing here just now." 

" You are in my way ! " snarled Lon. " I want to git behind this door ! " 

" What do you want to get behind the door for ? " 



1 873.] More about Constellations. 75 

" None of your business ! " 

" That is n't a very civil reply," said Jack, " but I suppose it 's all I could 
expect from you. See heip ! leave my foot alone till I give you — " 

" A bit of advice," he would have added ; but at that instant Lon, seizing 
his leg, lifted it, and with all his force pushed Jack against the wall. 

The proffered bit of advice was lost in the confusion that followed. The 
battle had begun. A score of pupils crowded to witness it, boys and girls 
hurrying and shouting and screaming, some rushing in from without, and 
some rushing out from within, filling the two doorways, and even thronging 
the entry in which the combat took place. 

And now I wish it were my privilege to describe a gentlemanly set-to (if 
such a thing, without gloves, can ever be called gentlemanly) between our 
hero and his antagonist, — a few handsome rounds, with seconds, and accord- 
ing to the rules of the ring. But we cannot have that satisfaction for a very 
good reason, — nothing of the kind took place. We have read of such con- 
tests between school-boys of fourteen and fifteen ; but who of us ever really 
saw one ? 

Lon and Jack fought, as we shall see, not like " gentlemen," but, after the 
manner of most school-boys, like a couple of young savages. 

7. T. Trowbridge. 



MORE ABOUT CONSTELLATIONS. 

THE annual change in the appearance of the starry heavens, occasioned, 
as we have seen, by the earth's revolution around the sun, must have 
been observed in very ancient times, and, although men had a very erroneous 
idea as to its cause, they could not be long in discovering how closely it 
corresponded with the change of the seasons. 

When their attention had thus been drawn to the stars, they naturally 
fixed their observations upon particular groups which could be easily re- 
membered, and, as they had occasion to speak to one another about these 
groups, they gave them names. If you will think a little, you will see how 
natural, and indeed unavoidable, this was ; for without some name how could 
they speak of any particular stars when they were not in sight so that they 
could be pointed out ? 

This is the secret of the naming of the stars, and this very simple and 
natural proceeding was the beginning of that system of constellations which 
has sometimes seemed so mysterious, and has given the ancients the credit 
of having most strange imaginations. Men had to name the stars, because 
they had to speak about them; but we must not suppose they began by 
giving to the different groups the names of animals they fancied them to 
resemble. Ancient observers, I mean very ancient observers, had no 



j6 More about Constellations. [February, 

sharper eyes than we, and had quite as little thought of shaping the stars 
into animals ; on the contrary, they seem to have begun by giving them 
very simple and sensible names, as we would have done had we been in 
their place. 

The formation of these figured constellations was an afterthought It 
was the work of a great many generations of men, and took place gradually, 
like the formation of all mythology, being helped on in many instances, as 
we shall see presently, by a curious misunderstanding of names which had 
already been given to certain groups of stars, but whose true meaning had 
been forgotten. Many absurd and groundless ideas became after a while in 
this way connected with the stars ; but the original constellations seem to 
have been very simple. 

The more striking groups were thus singled out and provided with names 
in very ancient times, and are mentioned in the oldest books we have. 
The Great Bear, or rather the seven stars of the Dipper, and Orion are 
frequently spoken of in Homer, and are mentioned, too, in the sacred books 
of the Hindoos, and in the Bible in the Book of Job. These are among the 
oldest of the constellations ; but when the practice of observing the stars 
had once become established, and the more remarkable constellations had 
been named, other less noticeable stars, or groups of stars, were in time 
found to be equally serviceable, and in like manner received some appropriate 
name. And so the work of forming constellations, having started in a very 
natural way, went on, until in the historical times of Greece and Rome 
nearly the whole visible heavens had been covered with them. 

But the work did not stop here. Modern astronomers found these ancient 
divisions of the heavens very convenient aids in naming the stars. These 
they call by the letters of the Greek alphabet, adding also the name of 
the constellation in which they are found. Thus they call a very bright 
star in the northern hemisphere Alpha Lyra y meaning the star alpka y 
or a, in the constellation of the Lyre. Beta Orionis means the star beta, 
or b y in Orion. In order to make this system of naming perfect, they 
had to fix very exactly the boundaries of the old constellations, which were 
not very clearly defined ; and as the heavens were found not to be quite 
covered, new constellations were added to fill up vacant spaces. So on our 
charts we find, along with the Great Bear and Orion and other very ancient 
constellations, such modern company as the Telescope, the Compass, the 
Sextant, and even the Printing-Press. 

Thus the work of naming the stars has, you see, been a very long one, 
commencing several thousand years ago, and only ending in the past cen- 
tury. It began in the necessity which men were under of speaking about 
particular stars by which they regulated the affairs of every-day life, and 
was continued by modern astronomers for the convenience of scientific 
observation. 

And now we come to the most curious part of our' subject, — the way in 
which these constellations originally so simple became by degrees mixed 
up with mythology, until the system became one vast and extravagant 



1 873.] More about Constellations. jj 

fable. To examine this matter thoroughly would require a great deal more 
space than we have at our disposal. I can odIv give you a few instances 
illustrating how a slight and very natural error, when once started, went on 
increasing in magnitude, until it ended in a very strange misconception. 

Let us begin with a simple instance. There is a very small cluster 
of small but bright stars, with which I have no doubt some of you are 
acquainted, called the Pleiades. This name, which is Greek, was formed 
from a word, pleio, which means to sail, and was given to this cluster of 
stars because upon its rising, about the first of May, the spring was suffi- 
ciently for advanced to make navigation safe. Those who first called these 
stars the Pleiades meant no more than to call them the sailing-stars, which 
was certainly a very appropriate name for them. This is, at least, the most 
probable meaning of the name Pleiades. But it happens that, by a peculiar- ' 
iry of the Greek language, the form of this word is calculated to mislead, 
and after a while it was thought to mean children of Pleione; and so the 
table sprang up that these seven stars were the seven daughters of Pleione. 
Each of these daughters had a name, and the story went on to say that 
they all, with one exception, married gods, but that one of them married a 
mortal, of which act she became afterwards so much ashamed that she 
partially withdrew her light, and became less fair than her sisters. The 
occasion of the latter part of this story was that, although seven stars were 
usually reckoned in this cluster, only six were visible, except to very good 
eyes and on a very clear night 

There were many other ways of accounting for this " lost Pleiad," as it 
was sometimes called, one of which was that she became wasted away with 
weeping over the fall of Troy. Thus we get a little patch of mythology, — 
which I might enlarge for you, for there were many other fables about these 
daughters of Pleione, — all formed out of a word which meant to sail. 

This is only one of a great many instances that might be given, in 
which the names of constellations became invested with fanciful meanings, 
and so gave rise to curious ideas about them. A very remarkable instance 
has been pointed out by Professor Max Miiller, who has told us so many 
new and interesting facts about the ancient mythologies. It is that of the 
Great Bear. Who has not studied this constellation, and tried to trace its 
outlines, and wondered what the ancients saw in this group of stars to sug- 
gest to them the image of a bear ? A dipper or a wagon it may be, but a 
bear it certainly is not 

The account which Professor Miiller has given us of the origin of this 
celestial monster will, I think, interest even some of the older readers of 
"Our Young Folks." He tell us it is no wonder we have strained our 
eyes in vain to discover this bear in the skies, for there is none there and 
never has been. It is all a mistake, and his account of how this mistake 
originated is this : — 

Many hundred years ago, long before the Greeks had settled in Europe, 
their ancestors lived in Central Asia. They were the ancestors, not only 
of the Greeks, but also of the Romans, and of nearly all the other races 



78 More about Constellations. [February, 

of Europe; and from them also descended the Hindoos, who migrated 
south and settled in India. This very ancient people, who spoke a language 
front which the Greek and other European languages, as well as the Hindoo 
language, are derived, had observed the singular group of stars of which 
we are speaking, and called it the Seven Rikshas. This word, Professor 
Miiller tells us, means bright ones, and is a very significant name, applied 
originally to all the stars. The seven Rikshas meant originally nothing 
more nor less than the seven stars. But other* words for star were also 
used in these primitive times, and after a while this word riksha ceased to 
be used except in reference to the seven remarkable stars in the north. 
Let us see what happened. The Hindoos, who had received this name, 
Seven Rikshas, from their ancestors, and knew nothing of its original mean- 
ing, confounded it with another word, rishi, which meant poet; and so these 
stars came finally to be called by them the Seven Rishis, or Seven Poets ! 
These seven Rishis fill a large place in the Hindoo mythology, and a story 
was of course told explaining how they got their place among the stars. 

So much for the Hindoo branch of this myth ; and now let us see what 
the Greeks did. They seem to have been equally unfortunate with this 
word riksha. They too lost its meaning ; but they had another word, which 
sounded very much like it, which meant bear. This word was arktos, which 
to you does not much resemble riksha, but which students of language 
assure us is really the same word, only changed from long use. The Greeks 
seem therefore to have mistaken the seven rikshas for bears, just as the 
Hindoos mistook them for poets, both being misled by a name they did not 
understand. 

How these seven bears became transformed into one, Professor Miiller 
does not undertake to tell us ; but I think you will agree that the explana- 
tion, so far as it goes, is too good to be set aside because it is not quite 
complete. The change may easily have taken place, in time, in a variety 
of ways. 

And now the Greeks, having got a bear {arktos) in the heavens, called a 
very bright star a short distance from it Arct-urus, which means bear-keeper, 
and they also called a smaller and somewhat similar group of stars near the 
North Star the Little Bear ; so you see how one mistake opened the way 
for others, and helped men to imagine what otherwise they would never 
have dreamed of looking for. 

Many other instances might be given to illustrate how the later ideas of 
the constellations had no foundation except their names ; but one other must 
suffice. It is the origin of the constellation Gemini, or the Twins. If you 
will get any one to point this constellation out to you, — I mean in the actual 
heavens, and not on the chart, — you will see two very bright stars situated 
quite close together. You can easily find them again when you have once 
had them pointed out, for they are very conspicuous, and you will see that 
they formed, therefore, one most excellent marking-point for the ancients 
to tell how far the annual revolution of the heavens had advanced. You 
will easily understand, too, as you look at them, why the ancients, when 



i873-] More about Constellations. 79 

they came to observe and speak about them, called them the Twins, as they 
seem to have done. 

But the Greeks had in their mythology two other twins, named Castor 
and Pollux. The origin of this story of the twins is very curious, but I can 
only tell you* now that they had, at first, no connection whatever with these 
two stars. Yet after a while these two sets of twins — the twin stars and 
the mythological twins — became confounded together, so that men thought 
they were one and the same thing, and always spoke of these stars as Castor 
and Pollux. 

These twins were considered the especial protectors of sailors ; and when 
any one's friends were about to embark on a sea voyage, instead of bidding 
them a " God-speed," as we sometimes do, he would very likely commend 
them to " the benign influence of the Twins, Castor and Pollux." 

This seems to you a very curious God-speed ; but the idea seems to have 
originated in the fact that Castor and Pollux, or rather the stars confounded 
with them, rose about the end of June, the season of all most favorable to 
navigation. 

If you will look on the chart for this constellation, Gemini, you will find 
pictured two twins, little boys they seem to be, lovingly embracing each 
other, or sitting side by side, for they are not always represented in the same 
way ; but I do not think that you will now waste your time in trying to find 
these figures among the stars. 

It would be too much to say that ail the constellations have originated 
in this way through mistakes. There are some which were, no doubt, sug- 
gested by the configuration of the stars themselves, and others were design- 
edly added in later times as companions for constellations already formed. 
But it is probable that the great majority of those figured representations 
which you see on charts, and which have seemed to you so mysterious, have 
no better foundation among the stars themselves than have the Great Bear 
and the Twins. 

I have briefly and imperfectly sketched for you what seems to be the real 
history of these ancient constellations, in which I know all children take a 
greater or less interest. I hope I have not spoiled them for you by showing 
how litde reality there is in them. I have had no wish to spoil the poetry 
and mythology which has grown up around them, and which, indeed, cannot 
be spoiled, but will always be read with interest, as a portion of the remains 
of ancient thought But we do not always want poetry ; and what I have 
attempted to do is, to tell you the simple and natural origin of this strange 
way of viewing the stars, and td show you that our ancestors — for we are 
descendants of that ancient people whom I mentioned as living in Central 
Asia — were not so visionary as has sometimes been imagined, but were, 
on the contrary, a very sensible people, who made the best use of their 
limited means and knowledge. 

George S. Jones, 



8o 



Block Houses. 



[February, 




BLOCK HOUSES; ^ 
OR, JOHNNIE'S PHILOSOPHY. 

SAID Lottie, " Once I built with cards ; 
What flimsy things they were ! 
My Christmas box of hard-wood blocks 
I quite to cards prefer. 



" There 's not a breath of wind that blows 
Through window or through door, • 

But house or yard I built with card 
Was blown about the floor. 

"Such easy work with blocks to build, 

But little pains I take. 
Come, Johnnie, you and Baby too 

Shall see what I can make." 



The work begins, — block after block, 
Higher and higher it grows ; 



1873] Block Houses. 81 

She piles and piles, and Johnnie smiles, 
And Baby laughs and crows. 

"'Tis done!" cries Lottie with delight, 

" A church ! the towers and all ! 
'T is plain to see, as plain can be, 

Block houses do not fall." 

The .Baby *s in an ecstasy ; 

He shakes his curly locks ; 
On tiptoe stands with outstretched hands, 

And snatches at the blocks. 

With fists and toes he strikes good blows, — 

Who ever knew such fun ? 
To left and right with all his might 

He scatters every one. 

" Now there *s a smash ! " says sober John, 

The little wise-head brother; 
" But never mind ; I guess you '11 find 

That we can build another." 

Again the busy fingers work; 

Again the tower upstands. 
" It is well done," says sober John, 

And Lottie claps her hands. 

"Hold Baby fast!" He kicks, he screams. 

Was ever such a rout ! 
Mamma comes in : " Why, what 's the din ? " 

And "What 's it all about?" 

She takes the baby in her arms, 

And round with him she walks, 
Now here, now there, — "Mamma, take care, 

Don't come too near the blocks." 

Ah ! not at all she heeds the call, 

So loudly Baby cries ; 
Along she flirts her trailing skirts, — 

The tower in ruin lies ! 

Encouraged yet by little John, 

Once more will Lottie try. 
"This time," says he, "I think that we 

May build up strong and high.' 1 
vol. dl — no. n. 2 



82 . What Madam Talbot Saw. [February, 

But past disaster chills her hope; 

The tears dim Lottie's sight; 
Her fingers shake; she scarce can make 

One block to stand aright. 

A leaning tower, and all awry. 

Too loosely piled the walls; 
*T is scarcely more than raised, before 

It totters, shakes, and falls ! 

"O Johnnie, we no more will build; 

It does not last a minute." 
She wipes her eyes, but Johnnie tries 

To find some reason in it. 

His elbows rest upon his knees ; 

Both hands support both cheeks; 
His eye he cocks upon the blocks, 

And thus his mind he speaks : — 

"To build block houses blocks were made, 

That to my mind is plain ; 
But many a one esteems it fun 

To knock them down again. 

"Block house to build by fingers skilled 

A first-rate play is reckoned ; 
But if one durst not smash the first, 

He could not build the second. 

" There 's many a slip Uwixt cup and lip; 

I 've heard old folks declare it ; 
And ups and downs all labor crowns : 

We '11 laugh, and learn to bear it." 

Mrs. A. M. Wells. 



WHAT MADAM TALBOT SAW. 

DEAR old Madam Talbot's fingers can no longer guide a pen ; but some 
of the stories she tells of her merry and eventful childhood are too 
precious, because of their truthfulness and national interest, not to be known 
outside our little home circle. The one I like best, and know almost by 
heart, runs thus : — 

It was my eighth birthday, October 25, 1797, and I was spending it at 
grandfather's, to me the most pleasant place in the world, because, being 



1873.] What Madam Talbot Saw. 83 

so far away from my home in Maryland, I bad never before visited it, and, 
according to my notion of such things, it was as grand as a palace. 

He lived in Alexandria, an old town in Virginia on the right bank of the 
Potomac, and eight miles below Washington city, then an insignificant vil- 
lage, with scarcely more than the foundation dug of the now magnificent 
Capitol. Grandfather was a stage-and-coach builder, and the big yard just 
behind his stone house was surrounded by blacksmith, trimming, and paint 
shops, while within it stood great, heavy-looking, new and old family coaches 
in every condition, from the brand-new with polished panels and silver hinges 
that shone like mirrors, to the tumble-down and rickety, almost unfit for 
service. This was long before the invention of cars and railways, you know, 
so the only mode of travel was in some kind of wheeled vehicle drawn by 
horses, or on a horse's back ; and there were few families in Virginia who . 
did not own at least a barouche or gig. 

My playmate during the entire morning had been Anthony Harper, a 
boy from next door, only two years my senior, and so full of rollicking fun 
that the very sight of his face, even when in church, would make me want 
to laugh. 

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, when, almost worn out with playing 
school, dinner-parties, "hot butter beans," and leap-frog, Anthony sug- 
gested : " O, let 's play battle ! You be the Indians, and I '11 be Uncle 
Wayne fighting you. Whichever party whips '11 tomahawk the other dead, 
and bury them under the dried leaves. Will you ? " 

This magnificent idea infused new vigor into me. 

" O yes," I said ; " that will be the best of all we 've done yet. Let 's 
dress up rightly, if you know how. Grandpa's soldier clothes are hanging 
in the little closet under the front staircase, for you to put on ; but what 
shall I wear ? " 

" I '11 fix yjou," said Anthony. " Hunt something red for a frock, till I 
come." And, darting off like a swallow, he was back again with a piece 
of broken crockery on which he had daubed patches of black and yellow 
paint, a coronet of carled pine shavings, and a half-worn turkey-wing stolen 
from the kitchen hearth, before I had more than one of my short arms thrust 
through the long one of grandpa's scarlet flannel shirt. When on me, the 
garment reached almost to my feet Securing it at the waist with a girdle 
of bright yellow carpet-yarn purloined from grandma's store-room, and dress- 
ing my head with the shavings and turkey feathers until it looked like the 
body of an angry porcupine, I stood still as a statue while Anthony, with a 
small varnish-brush, painted half-moons and black snakes over my forehead 
and cheeks, until I rivalled in ugliness a tattooed New-Zealander. 

Armed with the butter-paddle for a tomahawk and the tin handle of an 
old broken sauce-pan for a scalping-knife, I stood before the admiring eyes 
of my costumer as magnificent as Tecumseh, and a foe worthy of his steel. 

General Anthony Wayne Harper found his regimentals more difficult to 
manage, as the visor of grandpa's hat would rest upon his nose, and the 
epaulettes covered his little shoulders like a pair of saddles. 



84 What Madam Talbot Saw. [February, 

" You 'd better go and hide, instead of laughing at me ; for when I once 
hear you whoop, and charge on you, you *U be a dead Indian, sure," he said ; 
for, feeling like a "big brave," I had dared to taunt him. 

"What 's to be my name, and where shall I hide first? " I asked. 

" You 're a pretty Indian to ask that ! Your name 's Rattlesnake, and, 
hide anywheres in the wide world, I '11 be sure to find you." 

Stung by his sneer of contempt, I banged the hall door between us, 
rushed into the shop yard, and, seeing the heavy door of a large two-horse 
coach ajar, quick as thought climbed inside. The door swung to and 
latched, a little fringed curtain of pale blue silk fell over the four small 
window-panes, and I was alone, with a minute of breathing-time. The 
coach was roomy, with two high, long seats in it almost as broad as a 
modern lounge. Pulling off the cream-colored cloth cushion of the front 
one, it revealed a carriage-box, into which, without much difficulty, I crept, 
lying curled up as snugly as a caterpillar in its cocoon. 

" Whoop ! Patsy ! Hidie, whoop, Rattlesnake ! " soon rang out clearly 
and very near me. It was Anthony's summons to battle ; but no sound from 
my lips revealed an ambush which he knew, but not I, that grandpa had 
forbidden boys to enter. Soon the soft dim light and my perfect quiet began 
to take effect With the faintest impression of tramping hoofs, and two or 
three bounces of victory when I had said, " We have met the enemy and 
they are ours," or something equivalent, I lost all consciousness. 

I awoke, how long afterwards I never knew, in the most horrible dark- 
ness. Stretching out my feet, I found something hard resisting them; I 
threw up one hand, but it only grasped empty air. " Mother ! mother ! " 
I cried, in my first bewilderment ; but no tender voice responded, as so often 
before, " What is wanted, darling ? " 

I sat up, and found by groping that I had been lying in a box. The awful 
fear crept over me that I had been buried alive, and would never again see 
the blessed light In my terror I had lost all remembrance of preceding 
events, and, sitting upright, could only shriek, " Mother ! mother ! O, come 
to me ! come to me ! " 

My frantic yells must have sounded like veritable war-whoops, for pres- 
ently I heard dogs bark, and soon a hound began the most mournful baying 
I have ever shuddered over in my whole long life. At these familiar sounds 
I screamed so much louder and. longer it is a wonder I was not voiceless 
forever after. Soon the barking came nearer, succeeded by sounds of paw- 
ing and scratching somewhere in my neighborhood, while a gruff voice in 
the negro dialect I had heard every day of my life, said, " Down wid you, 
King. Here, Tige ! old fellah ! hiss ! hiss ! scatch him ! " 

Then a bolt was withdrawn, feet pattered around me, the barking came 
nearer and grew more impatient, a dim light dawned upon me, and before 
I could discover or realize that I was still in the coach a small door opened, 
and a lighted lantern held by a black hand flashed before my eyes, followed 
by a black face with great, rolling white eyes, and the frightened exclama- 
tion, " Good Massa in heben ! what 's dis ? " 



1 873.] What Madam Talbot Saw. 85 

» 

Dropping the lantern, he started back, when in bounded a huge dog, 
which, after snuffing me an instant, looked at me with its great, sagacious 
eyes, and licked my face. The touch of his warm tongue reassured me, and, 
stretching out my arms to the man whose eyes were still rolling in his head 
like balloons, I said, "O, please take me to mother! What is the mat- 
ter?" 

" Hanged ef I know. I never seed sich a creetur 'fore dis. What is you ? 
Whar you come from ? " 

Nevertheless, he lifted me out tenderly, while I, sobbing with intense ex- 
citement, clung around his neck like a drowning child Presently we passed 
out of the carriage-house into some woods (I thought so, at least, there were 
so many trees), when an old black woman in a blue calico short-gown and 
head wrapped up in a white kerchief came to meet us, also carrying a lan- 
tern. Holding it above her, she looked at us earnestly, then said, " Whar 
on airth you git dat? 'T ain't no ghos' ob an Injun, Nick, is it ? De laws ! 
What sort ob a face ! An* all dem fedders ! Who — " 

My wits had returned in part by this time, and I hurriedly explained: 
"Anthony painted me. It's my birthday. We were playing Indians, and 
I got lost O, please take me to grandma ! I am Rattlesnake." 

" De chile 's got los' an' done gone crazy," said old auntie, as, putting down 
the lantern, she took me in her motherly arms. How I nestled upon her 
broad bosom ! 

" No, you ain't no rattlesnake, you poor little los' thing ; but I wonder who 
you is, anyhow. No, Nick, don't 'sturb mistis to-night," as the pair halted 
where a broad gravelled walk branched to the right and left. " I '11 take 
her to my room and clean her face fust." 

It was not the first time I had been in the negro " quarters " of a South- 
ern plantation, but none that I had ever seen rivalled Maum Rosy's in clean- 
liness and simple comfort. Never since has my face been so scoured with 
hard soap and warm water, nor my hair undergone such a pulling, as it did 
before all traces of my barbaric finery were removed. During the perform- 
ance I never spoke. Once the head of a little fellow about my own age 
peeped from under the gay counterpane of a trundle-bed near by, and asked, 
" Who dat you 'se washin', mammy ? Who done come ? " 

u A quality chile, Jim. Shut yer mouf and go to sleep." 

For that compliment to my social standing I was indebted to the brown 
silk dress which she had found beneath the red shirt, — a dress made over 
for me from one of my mother's half-worn brocades. 

" I *spect you was sleepin' in de coach when I druv off yisterday," said 
Uncle Nick, who, having entered the cabin, stood regarding me very in- 
tently. " Does you 'long to Mr. Ritchie ? " 

" O yes. He is my grandpa, and I had crept into the coach to hide from 
Anthony," I eagerly explained. 

" Well, you 'se a mighty soun' sleeper for such a young one, / do says 
for de way we bounced ober dem roads comin' home wa' n't easy, nohow. 
You see, honey, I know'd de coach was mended, an' jis hitched up and druv 



86 What Madam Talbot Saw. [February, 

off, widout once lookin' inside, kase it was long after dark when I got here, 
anyhow. Laws ! won't Marse Ritchie be oneasy ? " 

'• Hush ! marster '11 make it all rite in de mornin\ Honey, drink dis yer 
milk now, an' go to sleep ; you '11 git took home bimeby." 

Inexpressibly soothed by her tenderness of tone and touch, I again sank 
to sleep, nor awakened until I heard a murmur of voices near, and some one 
saying in most emphatic tones, " The poor dear child ! No wonder she 
was frightened nearly out of her mind. Does the General know it yet ? " 

I opened my eyes upon a lady leaning over me, whose appearance, en- 
graven upon my memory by the vivid impressions of childhood, I can nev.er 
forget. Tall and stately, with a face full of benignity, she was one to win 
respect and veneration at a glance. Her abundant gray hair was covered 
by a thin muslin cap with a high crown, such as you have seen in portraits 
of Mrs. Lucretia Mott. Her dress was of black silk, cut very low on the 
breast, while a snow-white neckerchief of soft French lawn lay in narrow 
plaits over her bosom and shoulders. A small willow basket full of keys 
hung on her left arm, while a silver knitting-sheath, shaped like a fish, was 
pinned over her heart. 

Kissing me like a benevolent grandmother as she was, and asking me 
if I felt rested, she took hold of my little hand, and we left the cabin. I 
had not the remotest idea where I was, or into whose care I had fallen ; 
nevertheless, all around me was larger and grander than anything I had ever 
seen, save in o>ne hotel at Baltimore. A short walk over part of a broad 
lawn, smooth as a carpet, and underneath huge oaks whose foliage was 
rimmed with October's dyes, and we came to the mansion, — a long stone 
house, with a deep, wide portico in front, supported by eight columns. There 
were bay-windows, around whose sides coral honeysuckles and ivy climbed, 
and the whole was capped by a tall, cupola-shaped observatory. An old 
gentleman of wonderfully majestic presence was standing on the portico, 
hat in hand, as we came around the side of the house, to whom the lady 
led me, saying, "General, has Nick told you about this poor little waif ? " 

" More than an hour ago, my dear ; and Ponce is half-way to Alexandria 
by this time, with a note to Mr. Ritchie, saying we would send the child 
home as soon as possible. He rode ' Bay,' and I told him not to draw his 
rein until he got there." Then, with his hands under my arms, lifting me 
up until my lips were on a level with his, he looked me steadily in the eyes, 
kissed my mouth, and gently replacing me on the stone floor, said, " She 
will never forget this adventure. Shall we have breakfast ? " 

" Who were they, and where were you ? " I remember asking when I first 
heard Madam tell this story, quite too impatient to await any more details. 
She continued : — 

They were General and Mrs. Washington, my dear, and I was at Mount 
Vernon, — then simply the country residence and home of our first President, 
now the tomb of the greatest and best man America has ever known. I 
went into the breakfast-room with my little hand firmly clasped by his, 
and drank my milk, into which Miss Nelly Custis, Mrs. Washington's 



1 873] What Madam Talbot Saw. 87 

granddaughter, had dropped a big lump of sugar, sitting in a high chair 
at the General's left. I little dreamed then of the precious privilege and 
honor I was enjoying, nor thought I would ransack my brain years after- 
wards for remembrances of the trifling things I noticed that morning. 

The table was round and dark, without any drapery ; but a small white 
napkin was spread under each plate. A black man, with a small waiter in 
one hand, and a towel over his arm, stood behind Mrs. Washington's chair, 
and I know she asked him if Pomp's foot was well enough for him to go 
to the mill at ten o'clock. While the General was asking a blessing, I 
looked across the table towards the wall opposite me, on which was painted 
a hunting scene that covered all the recess between the mantel and ceiling. 
Not far from where Mrs. Washington sat was a tall, dark cupboard with 
doors made of numerous small panes of glass, and filled with Sevres china. 
On a long sideboard in another part of the room, I remember seeing a huge 
china punch-bowl standing, surrounded by an array of innumerable glasses 
and silver spoons. The plates from which we ate fish were of white china, 
with a picture in the centre of each representing an angel dressed in very 
bright colors, blowing a trumpet, while one foot was poised upon the head 
of an eagle. This china, I afterwards heard, had been the gift of Marquis 
Lafayette to Mrs. Washington sixteen years previous. 

A half-grown boy, whom the General frequently addressed as " George," 
sat next Miss Nelly, with whom he laughed a great deal, frequently looking 
at me, and then saying something in a language I did not understand. He 
was George Washington Lafayette, spending a few weeks at Mount Vernon 
with his tutor before he returned to his home in France. The General sat 
in a high-backed, leather-cushioned arm-chair, whose carved top of dark 
mahogany rose slightly above his beautiful white head. I remember thinking 
how kind his voice was, and when he smiled, which was once or twice at 
something Miss Nelly said, the expression of his entire face changed from 
grave to almost joyous. Miss Nelly had lovely brown eyes, with little short 
curls hanging low over her forehead ; while the body of her hair was drawn 
up into a loose knot and fastened upon the very top of her head with a 
white comb shaped like a butterfly. 

Breakfast was soon over, and, Miss Nelly bidding me follow her, I went 
across a broad hall, in which hung a lamp that looked like a small church, 
to the drawing-room. A fire was burning in the wide chimney. There was 
no carpet on the floor, but the dark boards shone as if they were varnished. 
One great window, that I thought had a hundred panes of glass in it, was 
open, and through it I saw the General, with his cane in his hand, hat on, 
and a brown overcoat with broad pocket-flaps, talking to three colored men, 
who, standing bareheaded before him, seemed receiving orders. A little 
black boy about my size, with nothing on but a striped linsey-woolsey shirt, 
was tumbling somersaults in the grass. The General poked at him two or 
three times with his cane, which made him squirm with laughter. Presently 
Miss Nelly said, " Would you like me to play for you, Patsy ? " 

The harpsichord before which she sat was the first one I had ever seen. 



88 What Madam Talbot Saw. [February, 

Grandma had a spinet, but it was much smaller, and squeaked like a fine, 
cracked voice. Miss Nelly's sounded full and clear, and I thought the 
music most beautiful. There were two immense vases on the mantel-piece, 
painted like the Potichomanie ware nowadays, and between them a can- 
delabra with many candle-holders fringed with pendants of glass prisms 
around them, which sparkled in the sunlight like hundreds of rainbows. 
The morning was cool, and very clear. Pretty soon Mrs. Washington came 
in, and, taking a big bellows with a nozzle as long as a child's toy-gun, 
which stood inside the brass-wired fender, she began to blow the smoul- 
dering fire into a bright blaze. 

I felt entirely at home, somehow, for all about was wonderfully cheerful 
and pleasant; yet, child though I was, I instinctively knew that nothing 
vulgar or coarse could intrude there. 

Being free and unreserved in my temperament, I chatted with the ladies 
familiarly, — little dreaming what distinguished personages history and coming 
years would make of them, or how I would one day regard this rare episode 
in my long life. 

A tall mahogany clock standing in the hall with a gilded heron perched 
on top of it struck nine, as Nick, mounted on a white horse, rode up to a 
block in the rear of the portico. 

" Missus says, bring the little girl up to her, please, Miss Nelly," said a 
colored girl whom I had not seen before. Following my guide (whom by 
this time I had begun to love) up a staircase and along a wide entry, we 
entered a bedroom. I have an indistinct recollection of buff curtains at the 
windows, through whose parted folds I caught a glimpse of the Potomac 
River, flowing at the foot of the hill, and of a large, dark bureau, with brass 
handles tied in loose loops, and a pyramidal top wreathed in acorns and 
oak-leaves carved out of the same dark wood, and standing between the 
windows. A closet, quite as large as the bedrooms in a seaside cottage, 
opened out of this chamber. Mrs. Washington advanced to meet us from 
it, carrying a plaid shawl of blue worsted and a small straw hat, which had 
doubtless been Miss Nelly's. 

Putting these on me with a motherly fashion peculiar to great hearts such 
as hers, she said, " The roads are so muddy, little one, we will send you 
home before Nick, on a pillion. In the basket which he carries is a letter 
for your grandma and a lunch for you, should you get hungry on the way. 
You have been a brave girl, but be careful where you fall asleep next time." 

It was the General himself who lifted me on the pillion, bidding Nick 
ride gently ; and his beautifully majestic figure was the last I saw, as we 
slowly rode down the hillside. I heard the tinkle of cattle bells through the 
woods, and passed a carriage containing two gentlemen which was lumbering 
up the avenue ; then the horse beginning a swift canter, we were soon be- 
yond the precincts of Mount Vernon. 

Seventy-three years between my first and last visit to that hallowed spot ! 
Can you imagine a life-link so long ; or with what varied emotions I again 
stood, only last summer, inside the identical room where those kind, soft 



1 873.] Pigs and Guinea Pigs. 89 

fingers had shawled my youthful form ? More than two thirds of a century 
had elapsed. Nineteen Presidents of these United States had filled their 
allotted period of public trust and honor, while the ashes of the greatest 
and best of them all (save one) 'lay in the marble sarcophagus on the hill- 
top beneath the shadow of his own loved home. In that very room, now 
so bare and desolate, he had died ; and the only thing within it on which I 
could fasten a thought was a framed newspaper containing a full account 
of his death, Saturday, December 14, 1799. 

The lawn was there in the more than vernal loveliness of that October 
morning ; but the hundred or more people scattered over it wore the fashion 
of to-day, and scanned with idle curiosity the belongings of a home, now 
but the relic of a past century. 

The old clock still ticked the flying hours on the first landing of the 
winding staircase. To me it said, " Then and now, then and now " ; and above 
the locked and always silent harpsicord I leant, a withered old woman, 
just where the merry little adventuress of only eight years had stood look- 
ing up into the blooming face of Miss Nelly Custis. An old brown over- 
coat, the one I had last seen on General Washington, hung on exhibition 
behind the glass doors of a huge cupboard, and before an antique mirror 
in the western parlor stood the very globe over which I had been allowed 
to pass my childish hands in the General's library, that long-ago morning. 
Externally, few things were changed. The carriage-house, Maum Rosy's 
quarters, the walled-in garden, even the ivy and honeysuckle bushes, ap- 
peared just as they did to my youthful vision ; but when a lad, pulling his 
mother's dress, said, " Look how often that old woman wipes her eyes," and 
she replied, "I guess the light hurts them," they little dreamed I was 
weeping over the tender and blessed memories of my resurrected child- 
hood. 

Mrs. Nellie Eyster. 



PIGS AND GUINEA PIGS, AND WHAT THEY PAID FOR. 

THE spring was uncommonly warm, and there seemed more to be done 
upon the farm than ever was known before. 

How hard the boys all worked — even little Fred doing his share — in 
the fields and garden, — ploughing, planting, and pruning, getting ready for 
summer ! In the twilight all met upon the pleasant piazza to report progress, 
and lay plans for the morrow. 

"Pigs are out!" screamed Bridget, as they were thus assembled one 
evening. 

They well knew the meaning of her cry : that, tired and warm as they 
were, all hands must turn out and chase the pigs, — an experience equally 
trying to the nerves and temper ; for, in the arts of determined running, 
heading the wrong way, doubling, and eluding one's grasp, pigs excel all 
other animals* 



90 Pigs and Guinea Pigs. [February, 

" Run, boys ! " said Mr. Cunningham, — " run, or they '11 be in the garden. 
How did they get out, I wonder ? I thought that wall was strong and high 
enough to confine an ox ! " 

Off went the five boys ; the rest of the family standing guard over the 
newly planted garden and flower-beds. What a chase that was ! The pigs, 
revelling in their freedom, ran this way and that, determined only upon one 
point, — not to approach their pen. In and out, doubling, twisting, slipping 
away just as one thought he had them, and giving more than one a fall 
and a bump, — it was full half an hour before the exhausted boys succeeded 
in driving them in and barring the pen. 

" I don't see why you keep pigs at all, papa," said Lillie, fanning herself 
with her hat, for she too had joined in the pursuit, and was flushed and 
tired ; " they are such stupid, uninteresting creatures ! " 

"Yes, that 's so ! " exclaimed Ned, flinging himself down on the boards. 

And all the others, heated and cross, expressed emphatic assent 

" That they are aggravating, I '11 admit," said Mr. Cunningham, in reply ; 
" and if a careless boy leaves the bars down, they are quick to seize the 
opportunity of escape. But they are very profitable, and almost indispen- 
sable on a place like this. Now I '11 tell you, boys, what I will do. I '11 give 
the pigs over entirely to you. You may feed them and take all the care 
of them, — treat them well, understand, — and, when they are killed in the 
fall, the money that they bring shall be divided equally among you." 

" And me ? " said Lillie. 

" Well, yes," replied her father, " if you do your share." 

After that it was astonishing what interest and importance those pigs 
assumed in the eyes of the children. 

44 Where *s the milk, for the pigs ? " was the constant cry, as three times 
daily, pail in hand, some one of the five boys appeared in the kitchen. 

" Sure, an' the far-ther was the wise man ! " was Bridget's frequent com- 
ment. 

One morning Charlie came in with the news, "There are thirteen little 
pigs in the pen." Out rushed the children. Sure enough, there they were, 
squealing already and trying to grunt, although their eyes were not yet 
open. 

They were all 

" Fat and pink like human babes, 
Most promising young swine," 

and the children admired them excessively. 

But the old sow, unnatural mother that she was, took a strange dislike 
to two of her babies, and would not feed them ; and, as the children had no 
idea of losing two pigs for her whim, Charlie took them into the house, 
where they were cuddled in a warm basket, and fed with a silver spoon. 

Under this treatment they thrived splendidly, grew faster than the pigs 
in the barn-yard, twisted their curly tails into a tighter knot, twinkled their 
little black eyes more intelligibly, and were always — or so the children fan- 
cied — the whitest and most aristocratic-looking pigs of the lot. But, what 



1873] Pigs and Guinea Pigs. 91 

with the meal and the milk, and the buttermilk from mother's churn, they 
all grew surprisingly, and by and by it was noised abroad that the Cunning- 
hams had some very fine pigs for sale. 

" Dew tell ! " said one old farmer after another ; " what nice pigs them air! 
Chester Whites, air they ? Well, now, what '11 yer take for a couple ? " 

44 Twenty dollars," was the prompt reply. 

44 Twenty dollars ! O, now, that 's too much, is n't it ? But they air nice 
pigs, no mistake. Guess I '11 take two on 'era." 

In less than a week from the time they were offered for sale all were 
gone, and soon the old ones were consigned to the pork-barrel ; and with 
the money they brought Mr. Cunningham bought for each of the boys and 
for Lillie a nice watch and chain. The boys all thought that they had made 
an excellent bargain ; but Lillie and Fred, the youngest and wisest of them 
all, were not content to rest here. 

44 If we take all the care of the Guinea pigs, papa, may we have the money 
they bring in ? " they asked. 

44 Yes," said Mr. Cunningham, " but I 'm afraid it won't amount to much." 

Little did he know of the foresight of those two ! 

The Guinea pigs lived upon- the barn-floor, and though the great doors 
stood usually open, the little creatures never ran out. 

Even if you took them in your hands and, carrying them out, placed them 
gently upon the grass, back they would scamper as fast as their little legs 
could go, and, gaining the sheltering fold of the great barn, would turn and 
look at you, crying, " Qu-week ! qu-week ! We know best ! " 

They were little trouble and no expense, for, with plenty of fresh grass 
and clover, they almost picked up their living off the barn-floor ; and in the 
winter, when grass and clover were not procurable, they ate bread and milk, 
grains, and vegetables. 

They had warm nests in snug little houses, all along one side of the barn, 
and in every house, now and then, Lillie and Fred would find a nest full of 
little ones. Before long there were twenty pairs for sale. 

Harry went to town, and, hunting up a naturalist's store, asked what the 
keeper would allow for the little pets. Seventy-five cents a pair, he said, if 
they would sell only to him. So the next day Harry took the little pigs to 
town in a basket, and brought home fifteen dollars to the children. 

41 Put the money in the bank for us, please, papa," they said. " We 're 
going to save it up, and by and by perhaps we can buy something that we 
want with it." 

So Mr. Cunningham made a deposit in the savings-bank for them, and 
before long another and another, for the Guinea pigs were such pretty little 
pets that everybody wanted them, and they sold so rapidly that Lillie and 
Fred had quite a flourishing bank account. 

Of course it required patience and perseverance to look after them and 
feed them regularly ; but the children were patient and persevered, and the 
little Guinea pigs never went hungry. Their plump, tailless bodies were 
sleek and shining, and their little black eyes glowed like bright coals, and 



92 Pigs and Guinea Pigs. [February, 

whenever the children entered the barn they were greeted with a chorus of 
" Qu-week-week-week ! " as their little pets scampered up to be fed. 

" What do Lillie and Freddy mean to do with their money ? " asked Aunt 
Carrie one day. " Do you think it a good plan, Charles, to let them hoard 
it up so ? " 

"They have an object in view," said Mr. Cunningham, with a smile. 
"They know what they are about" 

" But won't it teach them to be miserly?" 

" No, I think not. They do not save the money for its own sake, and, 
meanwhile, they are learning something of its value." 

" But what can they mean to do with it ? They have been saving it up 
for nearly three years, have n't they ? " 

"Yes, about that." 

" And what will they do with it ? " 

" You will know before long," said Mr. Cunningham, smiling again. " They 
want to surprise their friends." 

"Well," said Aunt Carrie, greatly mystified, "when shall I know the 
secret ? " 

" In a few days, I think," Mr. Cunningham replied. 

Not long after this conversation Freddy went to town with his father, and 
Lillie went to school in such a state of excitement that to this day I don't 
believe she can remember whether she failed in her lesson, or not ; for the 
" Guinea-pig money " had been drawn from the bank, and the mysterious 
purchase was to be made. Mr. Cunningham took Fred to a great sale- 
stable in the city, where he inquired for Mr. Coleman. 

" I want my boy to see the gray pony about which I spoke to you a few 
days since," said he. 

" Yes, sir," replied Mr. Coleman. " How do you do, young man ? Are 
you thinking of buying a horse ? " 

"Yes, sir," said Fred, glancing shyly at his father and reddening with 
pleasure. 

" You '11 be sure to like the gray pony," continued Mr. Coleman. " She 
is a famous little horse. Brown, tell them to bring up the gray pony." 

Brown disappeared, and presently somebody led the horse around. 

Fred looked at her breathlessly. He thought that there never was such 
a perfect hors'e, so pretty and small, and with such bright, mild eyes, small 
feet, and long, wavy mane and tail. 

"We call her Gypsy," said Mr. Coleman, smiling at Fred's evident 
pleasure. " She is a nice little horse. Want to try her ? " 

Fred glanced at his father, who nodded a smiling assent, and Mr. Coleman 
lifted him upon the horse. 

" Thank you," said Fred, taking the bridle. 

" You won't fell ? " asked Mr. Coleman. 

" O no,' sir, I ride at home," he replied ; and, chirruping to Gypsy, he can- 
tered her back and forth. 

" Do you like her?" asked his father, presently. 



1 873.] Pigs and Guinea Pigs. 93 

Fred looked up, his face beaming with pleasure. " I think she is splen- 
did!" 

" Do you think Lillie will like her ? " asked his father, laughing. 

"O sir, I know she will," Freddy answered, leaning over to pat the 
pony's glossy neck. 

44 Shall we take her, then ? " 

44 O yes, sir ; yes." 

44 But perhaps you may see some other horse you will like better." 

" O no, sir ; I 'm sure I sha' n't ! " exclaimed Fred, slipping off the horse's 
back and throwing his arms around her neck. " I shall never see a horse I 
like so well as this one ! " and he hid his face in her long, wavy mane, almost 
in tears at the idea. 

44 Then I suppose you may call it a sale, Mr. Coleman," said his father, 
handing over a portion of the Guinea-pig money. " We will go out and 
look for a carriage, and come back for the horse." 

A carriage was quickly found, a pretty basket phaeton, and a neat harness 
was also procured. At the harness-store a man gave Freddy a nice new 
whip, but he was sure 44 he should never want to whip that splendid pony." 

Lillie had just got home from school when the pretty turnout came up the 
driveway. 

44 O, what a dear little horse ! What a pretty carriage I " she cried, dancing 
around them. " See, mamma, how pretty and crimpy her mane is, and what 
little feet she has ! Do you like her, Freddy ? How does she go ? " 

44 O Lillie, she goes like lightning — almost And she 's all our own, — 
yours and mine. Papa paid for the pha-er-ton, but the pony was bought 
with the 4 Guinea-pig money.' " 

44 Charlie must put her in the barn now," said Mr. Cunningham. 44 This 
afternoon you can go to ride. Do you like your carriage, Lillie ? " 

44 O yes, sir ; I think it 's splendid ! " 

44 Do you think 4 Gypsy ' is a nice name for her, Lillie ? " asked Fred, as 
they all followed the little creature to the barn. 

44 Yes," said Lillie. " Is n't she a beauty ? " 

Little Gypsy gazed around her new home with mild, inquiring eyes, looked 
a little afraid of the old horse, and did- not seem to know what to make 
of the children's petting at first But she soon grew used to them, and 
learned to know and love them all, and she now feels quite at ease in the 
big barn where the Guinea pigs scamper about with little idea of their impor- 
tance. She is so clever and gentle that Lillie drives her alone in the u pha- 
er-ton," and has fine times taking her playmates to ride. 

Fred does not care so much for driving, but goes " horse-back." 

Perhaps some day you may meet him, for he lives not far from Boston, 
and this story is true. 

Mrs. S. B. C. Samuels. 



94 



About Boston. 



[February, 



ABOUT BOSTON. 



DAVY DRESSER had often been to Boston, and walked or ridden 
through its streets, and rambled on the Common, and climbed to the 
dome of the State House for a good view, before he came down with his 
Uncle George, one day last November, to see the ruins left by the great 
fire. 

He saw much to astonish him, and a few things to laugh at The good- 
humor and wit of some of the sufferers, displayed in the business notices 
stuck up here and there amid the wilderness of fallen walls, broken chim- 
neys, and smoking rubbish, amused him particularly. One sign read, 

"Two live sparks from these embers may be found at No. , 

Street." Another : " Having concluded not to occupy these premises, as 
we had intended to do," etc. ; then followed the address of the firm. A 
third : " Circumstances over which we had no control having compelled us 
to vacate this stand, we have removed to," etc Among the things which 
astonished him most was a volcano of burning coal on one of the wharves ; 
it had then been on fire two weeks, and promised to blaze at least a week 
longer. 

On leaving the burnt district, — after they had got free from the immense 
crowd of visitors that surrounded it, — they took a stroll on the Common, 
and sat down on a bench by the Frog Pond. Uncle George then wished 
to know what Davy thought of it all. 




Tht Frog Pond. 



1873-] 



About Boston. 



95 



" It would take about eleven hours to tell half of what I think ! " ex- 
claimed Davy. 

" Well, then, what have you been most struck by ? " 

"The thought of what has been done by men here! Before, it has 
seemed to me as if the city had always been. But just now, when we 
looked across the part that has been burnt over, between Washington Street 
and the water, then I thought for the first time that this was once all wild 
country, and that every brick and stone in the great streets and houses 
had been put there by money and hard work. Then I thought I would give 
anything if I could see things just as they were here one hundred — two 
hundred — years ago." 

Uncle George smilingly replied, "You would see some curious things 
indeed! The first human habitations were about as unlike these superb 
freestone palaces, or those magnificent granite blocks which the fire de- 
stroyed, as you can well imagine." 

" Log huts ! " said Davy. 

" Log huts there were ; but if we could look farther back than those, we 
should find only Indian wig- 
wams. There were plenty of 
wild beasts and rattlesnakes 
right here where we are. One 
of the boasted advantages of 
the place was, that, being a 
peninsula, the wolves could be 
easily fenced out ! Think of - 
that, with the city before your 
eyes to-day ! " 

"When did the white men 
first come here ? " Davy asked. 

" I don't remember reading 1 
of any before Captain Miles 
Standish, in 162 1, — two and a 
half centuries ago. He was a famous man in the early history of Massa- 
chusetts, you know ; and of course you have read Longfellow's poem, — 
'The Courtship of Miles Standish,' — founded on an old tradition that the 
captain sent his trusty friend, John Alden, to court Priscilla for him. Pris- 
ciila liked John better than she did Miles, and John liked her ; and after 
he had said what he could for his friend, she asked, archly, * Why don't you 
speak for yourself, John ? ' Miles with a few men sailed from Plymouth, 
entered the harbor, and paid a friendly visit to the Indians ; and returned, 
giving a very favorable report of the country. 

" William Blackstone," Uncle George went on, as he walked with Davy 
up towards Beacon Street mall, "was the first actual white settler. He 
came here four or five years after Standish, and built the first house in 
Boston. It was probably quite near where we now are, — on the southwest 
slope of Beacon Hill. He laid claim to the entire peninsula, which was 




The first Village. 



96 About Boston. [February, 

afterwards purchased of him by the town for thirty pounds sterling. He 
reserved fifty acres near his house, but afterwards sold forty-four acres, 
which the town laid out as a 'training field.' That training fieljl is now 
'Boston Common,' — where we are walking and talking about it There 
were very few trees here then, for some reason. Now look at these mag- 
nificent avenues of elms, with their arching branches overhead ! For many 




Beacon Street Mall. 

years the Common was used as a cow-pasture, — till as late as 1830, I 
believe; and Frog Pond was indeed a frog pond, though it looks little 
enough like it now, with its granite rim and its fountain. 

"All the lower part, down yonder," Uncle George continued, "was a 
marsh, in those days ; and beyond, where now you see the beautiful Public 
Garden and all those fine avenues and streets, the Charles River spread 
out into what we used to call the Back Bay, when I was a boy in Boston." 

" There is a good deal more, then, of the peninsula than there used to 
be," said Davy. 

" About two thirds of the present peninsula," replied his uncle, " is made 
land. The marshes and shallows on every side have been filled and built 
over ; until the peninsula — which, by the way, is a peninsula no longer — 
contains, not only its original six hundred and fifty acres, or thereabouts, 
but some thirteen hundred acres besides. That is not all of Boston, either, 
since East Boston, South Boston, Roxbury, and Dorchester have been 
included in the city limits. 

" Do you know," added Uncle George, " that the Boston and Maine 



1873.] 



About Boston. 



97 




Old Windmill. 



Railroad Depot, where you got off from the cars this morning, stands some- 
where near the middle of what was once a mill-pond covering fifty acres ? " 
"0 uncle ! how could that be ? " 

"All that part of the city, and the portion lying north and west of it, 
was a broad inlet of Charles River. It was crossed by a marshy ridge 
which rose above the water at low tide ; over that, there was first an Indian 
trail, then a causeway built by white men. That formed the mill-dam, cut- 
ting off the mill-pond from the rest of the inlet. It is now Causeway Street 
On the other side of the pond there was an outlet, called Mill Creek, which 
flowed into the harbor on the east side of the peninsula." 

"Then all that part north of it was once an island !" exclaimed Davy. 
" The mills must have been tide-mills ? " 

"Yes; when the tide rose, it filled the mill- 
pond; then, as it ebbed, the water was confined 
and made to do service at the mills. Water-mills 
they are called on an old map I have seen, — to 
distinguish them from the common mills of the 
colony, which were windmills, you know, of a very 
quaint fashion peculiar to Boston." 

"Where did they get the name of Boston?" 
Davy inquired. 

" It was named by some of the first settlers for 
their native town of Boston, in England. That 
was originally Botolph's town, — named after St 

Botolph, a Saxon saint of the seventh 
century. His name is made up of 
two Saxon words meaning boat-help j 
and he was the patron saint of sail- 
ors." 

This curious derivation pleased 
Davy, who said, " I should think the 
old saint had come over and pat- 
ronized the new Botolph s town by 
the looks of the shipping about the 
wharves ! But have n't I heard Bos- 
ton sometimes called Shawmutt" 

"Yes; that, was the Indian word. 
Before it got the name of Boston it 
was first called by the white settlers 
I Shawmut, and then Trimountain, or 
Tramount, — from which comes the 
popular modern name of Tremont, — 
" meaning three-mountain. But it was 
not suggested by the three hills for 
which Boston was noted, — Fort Hill, 
St Botoiph't Church, Boston, Eng. Copp's Hill, and Beacon Hill, — but 
vol. rx. — no. ii. 7 




98 



About Boston. 



[February, 




M Trimoantain." 



7* 



by the three peaks of Beacon Hill before 
they were shovelled away to fill marshes 
and coves. 
"Why Beacon Hill, Uncle George ?" 
"That came honestly by its name, 
too," was the reply, as uncle and nephew 
ascended from the Common, and passed 
over by the State House towards the 
Reservoir. "Somewhere near where 
we now stand there used to be a beacon, 
erected in the early days of the settle- 
ment." 
" What was the beacon ? " 
" A huge, basket-like, iron grate, hung 
fjom an iron crane near the top of a 
mast or pole sixty or seventy feet high. Treenails 
or wooden pins, driven into the pole, formed a sort 
of ladder to the top. When there was an alarm of 
Indians, combustible materials, like tar-barrels, car- 
ried up and put into the grate, were set on fire. As 
it was more than two hundred feet above the sea, 
the blazing signal could be seen at a great distance, 
so that all the country was roused. This famous 
beacon stood until after the close of the Revolution- 
ary War, when it was blown down." 

" How did people from the surrounding towns get 
into Boston before they had bridges ? " Davy asked, 
as they walked on. " Did they all come in over the 
Neck?" 
" That was of course the only thoroughfare," said 
his uncle, "and that 
was sometimes covered 
with water, making Bos- 
ton an island. By that 
route, persons coming 
from Winnisimmet — 
now Chelsea — had to 
go fifteen or twenty 
miles around, and ford 
two rivers. As there were at first no roads 
and no wagons, this journey had to be made 
on foot, with perhaps a lift at the fords on a 
pair of stout shoulders. The first governor of 
Massachusetts, John Winthrop, walked from 
Boston to Salem, in 163 1. Four or five years 
winthrop fording the Mystic after that there were ferry-boats which carried 





The Beacon. 



1873] 



About Boston. 



99 




\\\ mi M [ ]iiiii *^ ] ' 



HIP 

The old Cannon-BsJL 



passengers from Boston to Charlestown and Chelsea. For a hundred 
and fifty years there were no bridges ; the first — Charles River Bridge, 
from Boston to Charlestown — was not built until after the Revolutionary 
War." 

" Hullo ! " cried Davy, as they were passing down Brattle Street, " they 
are tearing the old church down ! I wonder what they will do with the 
cannon-ball." 

The tower was still standing, and in the 'front 
wall, by the arched window over the porch, stuck 
the historic cannon-ball which, fired by the Ameri- 
cans from Cambridge, struck the church, when - 
Gage's red-coats were quartered in it, during the 
Revolutionary War. 

Uncle George asked a workman what was to be 
done with the ball when the tower was removed, 
and was told that it would be placed, in nearly its 
present position, in the front wall of the new mer- 
cantile building to be erected on the spot 

As they went through into Dock Square, Uncle 
George exclaimed : " I believe in modern .improve- 
ments, but I miss the quaint old house that used 
to stand on the corner there. It has been gone a dozen years, and I have 
passed the spot a good many times since, but I always look for it It used 
to be called the ' Old Cocked Hat,' from its resemblance to that quaint old 

style of head-covering. It 
was almost two hundred 
years old, — built in the 
days of Indian alarms ; 
and, as the fashion was 
; then, its upper stories pro- 
jected over the lower, for 
the convenience of point- 
ing a gun-barrel down 
through the floor at un- 
welcome visitors, in war- 
paint and feathers, coming 
to the door. It was of 
fe wood, as all the houses in 
Boston were until within 
about seventy or eighty 
years. I remember some 
lines written early in this 
century, which described 
the town as a ' pyre of shapeless structures,' and went on to prophesy that 




The "Old Cocked Hat 



* One little spark the funeral pile might fire. 
And Boston, biasing, see itself expire.' 



IOO 



About Boston. 



[February, 



The town has seen many destructive fires since, but, strange enough, none 
so terrible as that which lately swept away its massy granite blocks and iron 
fronts, which people thought were almost fire-proof! " 

" How queer the old town must have looked ! " said Davy, — " the people 
with their cocked hats, and their houses that looked like cocked hats ! " 

" Less than a hundred years ago," replied Uncle George, "men and even 
boys wore cocked hats and wigs! Some of the early laws and customs 
would appear to us now quite as strange as the houses and people. There 
was a fine of a shilling for taking a chew of tobacco in the streets. To stay 
at home from church on Sunday, or to speak ill of the minister, was a crimi- 
nal offence. Officers were appointed to look about in the meeting, during 
sermon-time, and keep people awake with a long stick, or wand. There 
were both black and white slaves in the colony, — negroes imported from 
Africa, and white servants and prisoners of war sold in the old country and 
shipped to America. 

" Somewhere near where we now stand," added Uncle George, as they 
passed on into State Street and stood in front of the Old State House, 
" you might often have seen some poor fellow suffering the penalty of idling 

on the Sabbath, or speaking disrespectfully 
of a magistrate, or doing something else 
equally bad, by sitting in the town stocks. 
The offender was placed on a bench, and 
his hands and feet confined in holes between 
movable planks, framed in between two up- 
right timbers. The 
pillory was a still 
more uncomfortable 

mode of punishment 
Sitting in the Stock* The cu , prit st00( j 0Q 

a sort of stool, and had his neck and wrists confined 
between two wooden blocks, with his head and hands 
sticking through. 

" There was a heavy fine for attending a Quaker 
meeting, or for taking a Quaker into one's house. 
Any one denying the Scripture to be the word of 
God was to be publicly whipped, and to pay a fine. 
For a. child to strike or curse a parent, the penalty 
was death. I remember a laughable instance of a 
man being fined and banished from the colony for 
calling a justice of the peace ^justtusP 

But we cannot follow the uncle and nephew in all their rambles, and 
record all their talk, interesting as it might be.* At last they came round 

* Readers interested in pursuing the subject are referred to " Boston Illustrated," and " Old Land- 
marks and Historic Personages of Boston/' by S. A. Drake, —two profusely illustrated works, re- 
cently published by J. R. Osgood & Co. It would seem almost as if " Uncle George " had been 
attentively reading the last-named book, so rich in anecdote and curious tradition, before taking that 
walk with his nephew. — A. H. 





The Pillory. 



18730 



Life. 



101 



again to the corner of the 
common, by the Park Street 
Church, and stood looking 
across at a granite-fronted 
building on Tremont Street 

" O uncle ! " cried Davy. 
" See ! that is where * Our 
Young Folks ' is published ! 
I wish we could look in." 

" We can," replied Uncle 
George, hesitatingly. "Cer- 
tainly, — I want to buy a 
few books for Christmas, 
and I may as well do it 
now. And, let me see, — 
the magazines. We must 
have the * Atlantic Month- 
ly ' and ' Our Young Folks ' 
another year, — eh, Davy ? " 

" O yes ! And maybe," 
said Davy, — "maybe we 
can see the editors ! I bet 
they are in one of those 
rooms up there ! Won't 



M&*Mfc ( 




Where " Oar Young Folks " i* Published 



you ask for them when you go to subscribe for the ' Young Folks ' for next 

year ? " he whispered as they went in. 

* Augustus Holmes. 



LIFE. 



DID you ask me what is life, my boy ? 
Life is an apple red, 
Round and mellow, and fair to see ; 
So you bite through the skin with boyish glee, 
But your mouth you fill 
With a bitter pill, 
For the soul of the apple is dead. 
Dust and ashes, the old refrain, 
Rings in your ears like autumn rain, 
And the morning joy has fled. 

Did you ask me what is life, my girl ? 
Life is a gorgeous flower. 



102 Life. [February, 

Its colors are rich and its form is rare, 
So you run to pluck it with anxious care; 
But the sharp thorns wound, 
As you grasp it round, 
And its petals fall in a shower. 
Ah! much I fear me, my little friend, 
Lest your heart on its beauty should depend, 
For it blooms but a single hour. 

Did you ask me what is life, my boy? 

Life is a chestnut burr; 
Rough and prickly, and hard to hold, 
But watch it close as the nights grow cold, 
And some morning bright 
'T will disclose to sight 

Its nuts in their nest of fur. 
A little more patience, and you shall eat 
From the opened shells the sweet white meat, 

With no ugly thorns to deter. 

Did you ask me what is life, my girl? 

Life is a bulb close-sealed. 
You must plant it deep, and tend it with care, 
Till the rain and the dew and the summer air 
Their part have done, 
And under the sun 

Your treasure stands revealed. 
But few, my girl, could ever divine 
The fair white lily of fragrance fine, 

So long in its cell concealed. 

But, after all, my boy and my girl, 

This thing which we call life 
You may make a blessing or make a curse, 
Make good grow better or bad grow worse ; 
For the thorns that tear, 
And the blossoms fair, 
Grow up in the midst of strife. 
The faint-hearts all go down in the fray, 
But the strong of purpose shall win the day, 
And shall gain the prize of life. 

A. I. M. 



1873] The Flying Betsey. 103 

THE FLYING BETSEY; 
OR, HOW WE MISSED SEEING COMICAL BROWN. 

"T* WAS the winter we "carried the master out" 

J- That 's the way we used always to designate it If I remember aright, 
it was the year of grace 1865. " A very open winter," so the old folks said ; 
by which they meant that there was very little snow. Indeed, there was 
no snow till near January, and all through the late November and December 
days the ice-sealed meadows and the lake shone like polished silver under 
the cold-bright, shimmering sun; and the whole brown earth was frozen 
hard as granite. 

" Drefful weather for shu-luther," so Deacon Needham used to remark 
to grandfather every night, and then add, with touching apprehensiveness, 
that he "did n't bTeve that there was goin' to be any sleddin' that winter " : 
the Deacon had a family of five boys and girls " to keep shod," beside 
" Devil's Steve " ; and as he depended on sledding off four-foot wood to 
pay these "shu" bills, the withholding of the snow bore heavily on his 
mind. 

"Beside Devil's Steve." Perhaps this needs explanation, though the 
appellation was a notoriously familiar one throughout our neighborhood. 
As may be inferred, Steve was not the deacon's own son ; but he lived with 
the deacon. Whatever opinion the reader may have already gained of him 
from this rather profane sobriquet, was doubtless abundantly justified by 
the facts. The deacon had taken the boy at the age of three years to live 
with him ; taken him because he was Parson Hoffman's son, and because 
the parson had, in dying, committed little Steve to his deaconly care. 

A better man than Parson Hoffman never lived ; this was the often 
avowed opinion of the whole community. And his wife, little Stephen's 
mother, was a quiet, humble body, — like the little brown wife of the bobo- 
link, — who seemed to just fit the great chinks of the minister's heart So 
that at the outset Steve had a warm place in the hearts of people, and 
even when at the age of ten or twelve he had begun to display a freshly 
budding hardihood, fountains of charity rose and met his deviltries with 
homely allowance ; for was n't he an orphan, and was n't his father good 
Parson Hoffman ? It was not till at the age of fifteen that Steve had dis- 
pelled all this wealth' of charity ; when the epithet of " Devil's Steve," 
bestowed in the heat of a juvenile row, was seized upon by the whole school 
district, and devoutly applied at sight ever after. 

It may be added that Steve did not at first take kindly to this rechristen- 
ing. By way of reprisal, he made it a point to knock down all who thus 
addressed him. This made business lively for a while ; but ultimately Steve 
had to "knuckle under." He took care, however, that the name should 
not belie him. 

" Little Foster " had the school that winter. A college fellow was Foster, 



104 The Flying Betsey, [February, 

an undergraduate, teaching to meet his educational expenses, as so many 
embryo M. D.'s and LL. D.'s are obliged to do near the humble outset 
of their respective careers. Looking back, I feel convinced that if ever a 
young man deserved commiseration, it was Little Foster during that winter. 
In the farther dark corner on the back seat lurked Devil's Steve ; next to 4 
him " Hog- John " (Davis), so called from a certain porcine cast of coun- 
tenance, which his contemporaries affirmed was reproduced in his disposi- 
tion. Then there was " Midge " Edwards, a little, hard-headed pitch-knot 
of a boy, spry and deceitful as sin itself; his brother Tom ; and, finally, at 
the end of the row next the girls, the present writer, of whom the less said 
the better. We ranged from fourteen to seventeen, and, with two excep- 
tions, were above middle size. For the benefit of any teacher similarly 
conditioned, I am bound to say that moral suasion and even a painstaking 
and unselfish discharge of duty were just simply thrown away on us. The 
only thing we had regard for was superior muscle. When we knew the 
teacher could handle us and only waited a chance to do it, we were "good 
scholars " enough, and used to make good progress, especially Steve, who 
was sharp and keen as a brier. Even at this date there are hundreds of 
school districts more or less like ours. True, the law provides for the 
expulsion of unruly pupils; but, practically, the success of the school 
depends not a little on the physique of the teacher. 

It is not, however, of the "carrying out," but of the "Flying Betsey" 
(our ice-boat) which I wish to speak this time. 

The north shore of the lake (its Indian name would but appall the reader) 
was at no great distance below the school-house. The lake itself was frozen 
smooth as glass, and as no snow came we had skating there for more than 
three weeks. Grand times for us boys ! Off to the lake every " noon." 
Ugly times for Little Foster, whose duty it was to keep us at our books. 

Ice-boating is, as I am aware, a pretty well established sport in many 
places, and has been in several instances conducted on scientific principles. 
Yet it is safe to say that we knew nothing of these experiments, and that 
our ice-boat was purely original with us. We came easily enough by it, 
too; for there lay the Betsey — a flat-bottomed batteau — frozen into the 
ice, where we had last moored it in the fall. There, too, were the narrow 
thwarts. What more natural thing than for Steve to propose to cut out 
the boat, lift it on the ice, then thrust a couple of the thwarts under it and 
set them on half a dozen of our skates. We did this for fun one noon, 
without a thought as to its being much of an invention. 

At first we only shoved it about for sport. I don't remember which of 
us was the first to propose hoisting the sail, nor does it matter much. 
During the previous summer we had bought a few yards of " factory cloth," 
and made some progress in boat-sailing, even with our flat-bottomed craft. 
Hoisting the sail, we found that with a slight push at starting the boat would 
glide on with an accelerated motion. This last experiment opened the 
thing up, and greatly elated us. 

" If we can only steer it," says Steve, after we had made a preliminary 



1873] The Flying Betsey. 105 

voyage across the upper arm of the lake and brought up with considerable 
violence against the opposite shore, — "if we can only steer the thing, 
what 's to hinder striking out with it ? " 

Nothing that we could see ; and visions of triumphant trips down to the 
"village " at the foot of the lake — distant six miles — suddenly rose in our 
minds ; we could skate back and draw the boat with a line, for it ran as 
easily as a hand-sled. 

Midge had been our boat-steerer on the water, and he at once struck 
out a plan for steering on ice. He would sit in the stern, with a small pike- 
pole, and, by a series of judicious prods and drags, vary the course at will. 

That night we prepared the pike-pole, and the next noon went down to 
try the effect As usual, a crowd of the smaller boys followed after us, and 
great was their amusement when, on our first trial, Midge upset the boat 
and sent us all sprawling out on the ice. 

" Never mind," says Midge ; " I '11 fetch it next time." 

But next time he tipped us over on the other side. In the end, however, 
he "got the hang of it " ; and with Steve at the sail halliards to " let go " 
at the right moment, we could skim down the gleaming surface for a quarter 
of a mile, come round without slipping, and' run half-way back from our 
momentum. O, it was live fun, and promised better yet 

The next Saturday school didn't keep, and we made our first voyage 
down the lake. 

Through the winter and latter part of autumn the wind blows almost 
continuously in this country from the west and north. We were generally 
sure of a wind. On this trip the wind was light ; we slid away at fair speed, 
however, going at times as fast as a mile in three minutes, we thought. 
That day, as fate would have it, a bundle of flaming hand-bills arrived at 
the tavern, announcing that " ' Comical Brown,' that rib-tickling, rollicking, 
comical Brown, the Prince of Comedians, was coming to town." This 
well-known itinerary genius was to hold forth at " Tavern Hall," and a rare 
treat of fun and joke was bespoken. 

All this we learned, and much more, while loitering about the bar-room. 

" I 'm coming to this thing," Steve said, with a flourish at the poster. 
" What *s to hinder all of us coming down in the Flying Betsey ? " 

We had prefixed the " Flying " to the " Betsey " in honor of her more 
rapid performances on ice. But Hog-John filed a decided objection by 
pointing silently at the " Price of admission, 25 cts." This was a staggerer 
for a time. Not one of us, unless it was Steve, who would always contrive 
to have a little change somehow, had the desiderated quarter. At length, 
after some moments of doubt and darkness, Midge brought light by saying, 
" Tom and me have got some cider. Might sell some o' that here to the 
tavern, pVaps." 

Tom consented. 

Tim, the bar-tender, agreed to buy ten gallons of us at fifteen cents per 
gallon. Midge closed a bargain with him on the spot. 

We skated home late in the afternoon, facing a keen northwest gale. 



106 The Flying Betsey. [February, 

Brown the Comical was advertised for Thursday night 

Monday, Little Foster's tribulations began afresh ; we were out of school 
fully half the afternoon, practising the Betsey, and getting the skates set 
firmly under the thwarts. As a natural consequence, we soon grew dis- 
satisfied with the speed obtained by the use of our sail. We wanted to go 
Jfaster. So does everybody, in fact Progress is nothing but accelerated 
velocity, either in the mass or the molecule. 

" Must have up a bigger spread 1 " Steve declared. 

Tom was not clear as to how we could get more factory cloth. (Cotton 
cloth was high in 1865.) 

Steve said he would manage that, and told us to be on hand that 
evening. 

The moon was in its first quarter that week, and showed a beauteous 
crescent over the westward hills. After supper and chores we hurried off 
to the lake, Tom and Midge and myself Hog-John came a little later. 
Steve was there before us; and a corn-colored bundle lay on the faintly 
shining ice. 

" What 's that ?" Midge asked, giving it a kick. 

" O, a couple of the old lady's bed-blankets ! " replied Steve. " For more 
sail, ye know," fumbling in his waistcoat-pocket. 

" What did Mann Needham say to that ? " questioned Tom. 

"Didn't say; didn't know it Piled away there in her old chest-o'- 
drawers, ye know. Thought I *d take a couple. Carry 'em back after we 're 
done with 'em. Cut a couple of sticks, some o' ye, for a boom an' gaff on 
t' other side while I sew 'em together," — producing a darning-needle and 
twine. 

The blankets were raised on the other side of our mast, and a spare 
halliard bent to them. We had now some fifteen square yards of sail ; and 
on starting off this additional spread at once made itself felt in the greater 
steadiness and ease with which the Betsey sped away. The speed charmed 
us. We ran three or four miles in a marvellously short time, then skated 
back. 

There is something immensely fascinating about ice-boating ; and I only 
wonder that it is so little practised by our adventurous youth. The ease 
of the motion, the reckless speed, the shrill buzz of the steel runners, 
exhilarate one prodigiously. 

Tuesday evening was too calm ; but Wednesday night there was a smart 
breeze, with a brighter moon. We ran within a mile of the foot of the lake. 
We had made some progress, too, for by tacking we managed to ride the 
most of the way back. 

Noons we had to keep the blankets out of sight of the smaller boys. 
The girls began to come down, and we gave them rides as far down as the 
"point." But the evenings, when, with the whole spread m^ we could dart 
away unrestrainedly, were the real moments of ecstasy. 

The only dangerous, absolutely dangerous, portion of our course was 
off the " great rocks," a mile and a half below the head of the lake, where 



1873] The Flying Betsey. 107 

"the point" made out, nearly dividing the expanse into two parts. The 
"great rocks " were three huge boulders lying close together and rising 
twelve or fifteen feet above the water, out about a hundred yards from the 
end of the point To double this point we had to make a broad curve off 
to the southwest. Once around here, we could dash down on the main 
basin of the lake, a broad, roomy expanse of nine or ten square miles. 
Past the point the wind seemed always to " suck " hardest We did not 
deem it prudent on a high wind to run between the point and the rocks, 
bat kept away outside the rocks on a wide curve. Midge's orders (from 
Steve) were, never to go within ten rods of them; for, venturesome and 
careless as boys of our age are apt to be, the wondrous velocity awed us 
into a wholesome fear of running aground. We had sufficient appreciation 
of dynamics to know that to run ashore would smash us. 

A smart gale along the ice could scarcely be reckoned at less than forty 
or fifty miles an hour, and we used frequently to run, as Steve termed it, 
" faster than the wind," which we perceived on the slackening of our sails 
and their bellying the wrong way. Twice we ran what we called three miles 
in four minutes, as told off on Hog-John's old watch, the accuracy of which 
is open to some doubt With a mile and a half of start, we would come 
down and fly past those rocks with a velocity approximating that of Dr. 
Meyer's meteorites. Those were moments of mingled delight and terror ; 
even now I cannot but recall them with a thrill of pleasure, so fondly does 
mind love rapid motion ; from which I infer that, as the course of the spheres 
through space is quickened, the souls of men will rise to higher and better 
things. 

Thursday morning, before school, Midge and Tom wheeled down the 
cider in a ten-gallon keg on their wheelbarrow. Steve and the rest of us 
ran down to the ice with them ; and we stowed the keg and also the wheel- 
barrow on board the Betsey ; for, on getting down to the dam at the foot 
of the lake, we should need the barrow to wheel the keg to the tavern. 
We did not get back to the school-house till they were nearly through 
" reading in the Testament" All the forenoon we were in a deal of anxiety 
about the wind, on which our whole project depended. Our plan was to 
run off at recess in the afternoon, go down the lake before night and get 
our cider marketed, so, as to be in good time for Comical Brown at six 
o'clock. A rather objectionable programme, certainly, from every point of 
view. 

The wind held, and even rose toward noon. Fortune favored us in this, 
to get a better hold of us probably. At recess we quietly made off when 
the bell rang, and were soon at the lake. The Flying Betsey was shoved 
out on the ice and the sails raised. The cider and wheelbarrow made her 
heavier than usual ; but the wind was now blowing a strong gale under a 
cold, whitish haze. 

" Start her off easy, now," exhorted Steve, bracing his feet to hold the 
halliards. " And, Midge, keep your eye peeled, sharp ! Wind '11 be awful 
down by the pint" 



108 The Flying Betsey. [February, 

Midge grasped the pike-pole. Hog-John took passage in the bow. Tom 
and I eased her gently out from the shore for several rods. 

" All aboard ! " from Steve. 

We sprang in. The Betsey slid off like a snake, and, getting out into the 
wind, gathered way rapidly. 

Buzz-z-z-z-z-2-z-z-z-z-£ — • 

Faster — faster — 

The air roared in our ears. 

"Steady, Midge," gasped Steve. "Keep her off!" for we were already 
nearing the point, and the great rocks, gleaming coldly in the dim sun, 
were coming up with lightning speed. Six — four — two hundred yards, — 
a sort of nebulosity hung over the next second. Whether a sudden cramp 
paralyzed Midge's sturdy arm, or a flaw of the wind swerved us to leeward, 
was never very clear. The Betsey struck the outer rock ! Just a quick, 
sharp crack like a big whip ! 

That we were not all of us instantly killed is a wonder. That none of us 
were killed seems to me now to be little less than a miracle. My own expe- 
rience was a terrific fling up over the rock into the air, and a wallop and 
scoot on the ice beyond, all in a heap, face down. When first I got control 
of my corpus, I was more than a hundred feet beyond the rocks, in a dread- 
fully rattled and shaken condition. Looking around through watery eyes, 
I saw Steve crawling painfully back toward the wreck. Hog-John sat 
doubled up with the breath knocked out of him, at a little distance, gasping 
with alarming sounds. The wheelbarrow was whirring off far below us. 
As for the keg, that had gone up with the rest of us ; and as what goes up 
must come down, so that came down, — through the ice, — and either sank 
of its own weight, or passed off under the ice ; all we found of it was the 
hole. Tom and Midge had gone the other side of the rock, and brought 
up a good deal battered and barked against the inner. ones. 

We lay there in the wind for full half an hour, moaning and rubbing our 
bumps and " grazes." Steve could n't raise his left arm at all. Tom could n't 
bear his weight on his right leg. I had the skin all off my nose and cheeks, 
a nice plight to sit next the girls in ! 

That was the end of the Flying Betsey. There was n't a piece of her left 
but what would have gone into " Marm Needham's " oven. 

We made our way miserably back with the dusk. Comical Brown was 
never the richer for our cider." 

Somebody had seen the disaster at a distance, and we met a delegation 
of people headed by the deacon coming down to see if we were dead. But 
nobody pitied us in the least. On the contrary, there were those who did 
not scruple to insinuate that had vrcgone after the cider it would have been 
no great loss to the community. 

For the next week Little Foster had a respite. We were too sore and 
lame to give him much trouble. 

C. A. Stephens. 



1 873-1 Clarence Shank's Adventure. 109 



CLARENCE SHANK'S ADVENTURE. 

" /^OME, Clarie, it is almost dinner-time, and I want you to run to the 

^-* depot and get me a time-table of the Erie Railroad," said Mrs. Abram 
Shank to her son Clarence, on the fifth day of January, 1872. 

" I 've my old clothes on, mother," said Clarence, who had been working 
in coal that morning. 

" Never mind, Clarie ; put your overcoat on, and run along." 

Clarence obeyed, and went out from his father's house, on his way to the 
railroad station, in the city of Binghamton. Dinner-time came, but Clarence 
had not returned. 

" I don't see where the boy can be," said his father, as he arose from the 
dinner-table. 

" O, he '11 be here before I get the table cleared off," said his mother, 
anxious to shield her boy. " I dare say the ticket-master was busy, or 
something has kept him." 

Mr. Shank went away to his work. Mrs. Shank left Clarence's dinner 
upon the table, but it had grown cold, and he was not come. Two o'clock, 
and still the loving face of Clarence was not seen in his home. As the 
mother worked and waited, the fear that some accident had come to her 
son, grew until it became a horror. He might have been injured by a pass- 
ing train. 

A messenger was hastily sent to the railroad station. He soon returned, 
saying that no accident had happened there, and that Clarence had not 
asked the ticket-master for a time-table. He could find no person who had 
seen the lad about the place. 

" What can it mean ? Clarence would not go away anywhere, for he had 
old clothes on," said his mother, " and he had had no dinner either. I 'm 
sure he would not run off." 

Then the father and the older brothers were sent for, and a family council 
was held. One said " he might have been carried off on some train." This 
suggestion seemed very plausible. 

" Then we must send the telegraph after him," said Mr. Shank ; and he 
went up to the office, and messages were sent east, west, north, and south 
over the railroads that centre at Binghamton. The answers came speeding 
back over the lonely miles of wire, and each one said, " No boy carried off 
on my train." 

When every conductor had been heard from, the father went home. 
Friends were at his house trying to suggest some new possibility. The 
coal-pits were searched. Cellars were examined. All night men went up 
and down a mill-race. They carried lights and thrust their long poles into 
the dark water, but no one of them stirred the body of Clarence Shank. 

Saturday morning came, but not a ray of hope came with it, to tell where 
the lost one might be. 



no Clarence Shanks Adventure. [February, 

No child in all the beautiful city of Binghamton was loved so much that 
day as was the lost Clarence Shank. Of all the mothers' boys in all the 
world, there never was one like her lost darling, thought the tear-laden 
heart of Clarence's mother ; but neither searching nor lamentation nor tears 
availed to bring the faintest thread of news. 

Saturday night came. Then it was that somebody said, " Don't you re- 
member, the Gypsies passed through Binghamton on Friday? Can it be 
that they carried Clarence off with them ? " 

The very romance of the thought lent its charm to the new direction of 
search, and men eagerly offered to start with the dawn of Sunday. The 
Gypsy band was encamped twenty miles away. They might offer stout 
resistance ; therefore, as Saturday night was intensely cold, all the plans 
were made with reference to daylight 

Clarence's Story. 

Clarence was hungry when he started for the railroad station Friday noon, 
but that was of little moment He would come back he thought in a few 
minutes, and dinner was all ready, waiting for his father and brothers to 
return from their labor. As he looked into the passenger-room, the ticket 
agent was busy selling tickets for an out-going train, so Clarence went upon 
the platform to wait until he could get a chance to ask for a time-table. A 
number of grain cars were standing upon a track near by. One of them 
had been used to carry corn, and its floor was strewn with the long, thin 
kernels that had grown in the far fertile West 

" What a waste that is 1 " thought Clarence, having in mind the horses at 
home, and remembering how much they would like to taste the corn. " It 
won't take me but a minute to fill my pockets," he said to himself; and, 
with a dexterous leap, he was inside the freight car. In a farther corner 
of it he stooped down to draw the corn into a little pile, and was filling 
his pockets, when he suddenly found himself in total darkness. The car 
was shut, and the fastening-pin was in, and, in spite of cries and knocks 
that no one heard, Clarence Shank was a prisoner in an empty grain-car 
that was bound for the Great West 

In vain he shouted, in vain he thrust his stout boots against the doors. 
The old locomotive engine, puffing away in front, may have felt the thrill 
in its steam-chest, but no one's heart was touched to open the doors and 
let Clarence out So the wheels began to roll, and they rolled faster and 
faster, and the journey began. 

The boy did not know whether he was going east or west All that he 
could tell was, that the road was rough and the car jolted terribly. He 
stood up and clung fast to its sides to keep from being thrown about 

" What will mother think at home ? " gasped Clarence, trying in vain to 
find a crevice out of which he could peep at the surrounding country. His 
country was blackness and darkness just then. The time seemed days, the 
way endless, and then the thudding rumble grew less and less. The car 
was standing still. He renewed his knocks and shouts and kicks, but no 



1 873-] Clarence Shanks Adventure. in 

one came, and alter a few minutes the old motion began again. He held 
fast, until his hands were sore from the friction. The tears came and rolled 
down his cheeks, for he could not let go to wipe them from his eyes. After 
another hour the train stopped again, and he felt the motion of backing ; 
then all was still in the car, while the great locomotive engine throbbed 
itself into the distance. 

" If I could only see where I am ! " thought Clarence. But not a sound 
was heard. The car was " switched off" somewhere and left ; but where was 
it? 

" What if nobody should come and let me out ! What if I should have 
to stay in here till I starved and died ! " And then he thought of all the sore 
trouble his absence would make at home. He listened intently for the 
sound of a footstep, for he was growing very cold, and he wondered if it 
was night 

At last they came, the sweetest sounds that Clarence had ever heard, 
and yet they were but the tramp of heavy feet on frozen ground. The boy 
forgot to cry aloud, he was so eager in his listening. Yes, they were com- 
ing ; he could hear voices, as of men talking. Then he knocked with feet 
and hands ; he shouted aloud, but his voice was wellnigh drowned in the 
dark, close car. 

" What 's this ? " said one of the men. " There 's somebody stolen a free 
ride in that car, I reckon." The pin was taken out, the door shoved back, 
and Clarence was nearly blinded by the full light of day, for it was not yet 
four o'clock. 

He had not been imprisoned quite four hours, but the journey had seemed 
to him. the length of the United States. 

M Where ami?" asked Clarence. 

" At Barton. Meant to steal a ride, did you ? " asked one of the men. 

" No, I did not. I got carried off," replied Clarence, with indignation. 

" Well, you *d better start back pretty quick, boy. Where did you come 
from?" 

u From Binghamton. How far is it ? " 

"About forty miles. Take that road ! " And the men went on their way, 
thinking little of their careless words to the boy. 

He started, and walked until it was almost dark. Then he reached Tioga 
Centre. He passed through the village, and went on until it was so dark 
that he could not see. 

A farm-house was near by, but no friendly light gleamed out from it 
Clarence thought the folks had gone to bed. He did not like to wake them 
up ; beside, he was afraid they would think he was a beggar boy. Near the 
barn-yard there was a large stack of hay with a fence about it, to keep the 
cattle from getting in. Clarence jumped the fence, pulled out some hay, 
made a berth for himself, crawled in, ajjd, with the summer's red-top and 
clover for bed and covering, he fell asleep. The tears stole out from his 
tired eyelids with the last moment of consciousness, after which sleep 
warmed his cheeks and dried his tears, and sweetly freshened every tired 



112 Clarence Shank's Adventure. [February, 

nerve and muscle for the great trial of the morrow. There lay between his 
hay-stack bed and his home thirty-four miles of frozen land, and Clarence 
was only eleven years old, and had eaten neither dinner nor supper that day. 

Light came from over the east, and with a quiver the boy's eyelids opened. 
He sprang up fully dressed. No smoke curled from the farm-house chim- 
ney; nobody was astir so early. He started for the long march. In his 
pocket was the corn that he had gathered yesterday. Hunger was strong, 
and the lad ate a few kernels, wondering why horses seemed to like it so 
well. 

At Oswego some boys sent him two miles in a wrong direction. He met 
an old man who told him he must go back. That made four extra miles 
to walk. 

Clarence cried with cold and hunger and weariness, yet he never thought 
to beg a ride back by rail, or to ask a piece of bread even, at a house door. 
" They '11 think me a beggar if I do, and I 'd rather go hungry than beg," 
he thought 

So he pressed on mile after mile, while the day went its round. His 
cheeks were frozen from the flow of his tears, his toes and heels were 
touched by frost, but he had reached Union, and that was not many miles, 
he knew, from home. In all that day he was overtaken by but two wagons. 
They were so heavily laden that their drivers walked ^ therefore he could 
not ask a ride of either of them. It was after dark when the friendly lights 
of Binghamton were seen. 

Clarence thought he could not get home. The last few blocks were 
longer than the miles had been, and yet he knew if he fell down there y some- 
body who knew him would be certain to find him. 

He came dragging himself wearily up to the house. No one saw him 
until he opened the door. The house was full of friends and kindly souls 
who were come to sympathize with his mother. 

Clarence opened the door and surprised them all With one shout they 
cried, " Here comes the lost boy ! " while his mother sprang forward and 
clasped him in her arms. 

Clarence was too tired to tell his story, just then. They gave him food, 
for he had eaten nothing but a few kernels of corn since Friday's breakfast, 
and had not drunk even one drop of water since leaving home. 

Thus ends this true story of Clarence Shank's ride in the grain-car. 
How nice it would be if all the lost children could come home, as Clarence 
came ; if never a hearth-stone remained cold, for the want of the living touch 
of the little feet that stray and come not again ! 

Clarence thinks his home a far nicer place than a grain-car on the Erie 
road ; and the roof of his father's house a better shelter, in January, than 
red* top and clover. 

S. P. Packard. 




^OUR YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS <C 



AN EXCITING RACK 

THE ice was splendid. Smooth as glass, not a flaw or break in sight, the frozen 
current of the river stretched for miles and miles, affording extraordinary facilities 
for the fall enjoyment of that most pleasant of pastimes, skating. To enhance the 
pleasure of all this, I was to give a skating-party, one of my most cherished desires. 
I had invited many friends from the city and country, and was in a state of intense 
anxiety until the appointed day, Friday, came, — my uneasiness not lessened by certain 
strange remarks made by my parents, who both seemed to be in a secret, but neither 
of whom would tell me anything about it In vain I questioned ; it was useless ; and 
I was forced to wait until the day of the party in order to satisfy my curiosity. 
Rumors of a heavy freshet higher up the river had reached my ears, and, when Friday 
dawned, I tremblingly gazed from my window upon the river ; but my fears were 
relieved by beholding the same unbroken expanse of ice as before. 

It was a beautiful day. There were no clouds in the air, and no heavy breeze upon 
the land. A gentle wind from the south fanned my cheeks as I stepped from the 
door, and I could not restrain a shout of exultation at the glory of the day and the 
near approach of my favorite dream. By noon the greater portion of my friends 
had arrived, and before one o'clock we were all upon the ice, enjoying ourselves to 
our utmost capacity. 

My parents had caused a large tent to be erected upon the ice near the shore, and 
this was the centre of attraction for a score of happy faces, looking smilingly upon 
the numbers gliding around. About four o'clock we were startled by the ringing of a 
little bell, and at once collected at the entrance of the tent My father was standing 
in the doorway, and, after the clamoring had somewhat subsided, he held a little 
case to view, and said, "In this case is a prize, which will be given to him who first 
skates to the bend " — distant about a mile — " and back." 

He opened the case, and all crowded around to see what was within. I beheld, 
lying upon a bed of blue velvet, a little silver skate about two inches long, upon 
which was inscribed, " Awarded to the victor in the race held on the 27th of 
March, 18 — ." This, then, was the surprise which I had expected so long. In a 
moment more my father added, " This is to be presented to the winner by the hand- 
somest young lady present, and he is to claim the exclusive privilege of her hand 
through the remainder of the day." The young lady thus named was a Miss Rey- 
nolds, from the city, and, as all eyes were turned toward her, she acknowledged the 
compliment by a graceful bow. 

This announcement created a sensation among the boys, and thirty at once signified 
their willingness to become competitors in the race. We quickly took our positions, 

VOL. IX. — NO. II. 8 



114 Our Young Contributors. [February, 

and the signal was given. We darted forward, each bound to be the first at the 
return goal How soon were some disappointed ! Boy after boy dropped behind, 
amid the shouts of the spectators, and when we turned the limit, only seven remained. 
We were on the last half-mile. My chum, Harry Brand, and I were leading ; and, 
as we dashed along side by side, the tumult was deafening. We kept side by side, 
and, as we shot past the goal, the judge shouted, " Even ! " 

" Another race ! " called several boys ; and my father stepped forward to ask if we 
were willing once more to measure our powers. " Certainly," we replied ; and Harry 
added, " Let the race be to the great pine and back." This pine was a huge monster 
standing alone upon the shore of the river, a last remnant of the primeval forest, and 
distant from the house about three miles. 

" Is it agreed ? " asked my father of me. 

" Of course," I replied ; and it was at once noised around that we were to skate 
six miles to determine the possession of the prize and the belle of the day. We moved 
forward to the centre of the river, and, at the signal, shot away. We quickly passed 
the bend, and were lost to sight 

After we had skated thus for nearly two miles, we slackened our pace, and agreed to 
skate to the pine in a quiet, sedate manner, and reserve our powers until our return. 
The sun was low in the heavens, and the shadows of the trees which surrounded us 
(for we had now entered a large wood) extended far along on the ice, moving and 
waving at every breeze. We passed a stream on the left. " How curiously the ice 
looks ! " remarked Harry. We passed a small river on the right "The ice seems 
ready to break," said I ; but we still pressed on. 

The pine was distinctly visible afar off, with a long straight reach on the nearer 
side. " Hark ! " cried Harry. We paused and listened. A low rumbling and crack- 
ing broke upon our ears. The next moment we beheld the ice heave and burst into 
fragments near our goal, crashing upon the firm ice with fearful power. 

" The ice is breaking ! " shrieked Harry ; and in less time than it takes to tell it 
we had turned, and were flying wildly back. It was a double race, but the interest 
in the lesser was absorbed in the terror of the greater. Faster and faster we sped, 
our ears continually assailed by the ominous crackling and roaring behind, which 
every moment grew louder and nearer. A tremulous swell disturbed the ice beneath 
our feet, becoming more and more apparent as we hurried on. 

We passed the river on our right ; a long dark line extended along the shore from 
its mouth. We passed the stream on our left ; a yawning crack marked its presence. 
" Faster ! " called Harry ; and we spurned the ice with our feet until we seemed to fly 
like a race-horse upon the gallop. We reached the bend. The ice heaved and tossed ; 
on either shore a long line of dark water was appearing, and behind us rushed the 
advancing doom, now almost upon us. We took a few long strokes ; we were oppo- 
site the house ; and we turned to the shore only to find a broad band of water inter- 
vening between us and our destination. " Leap ! " I shouted ; and I shot through the 
air, landing at full length upon the ground. Harry stumbled, fell, clutched despair- 
ingly at a huge root protruding from the bank, swung for an instant in the freezing 
water, and then with a desperate effort drew himself upon the shore. We were saved. 
A shout burst from many throats, and we saw our friends crowding round us. Ere- 
(long we rose to our feet, aided by their assisting hands. 

The river was a mass of tossing fragments, and far down the stream could be seen 
the destructive influence still pursuing its relentless course. The freshet and the 
soath<wind bad done their work. 



1 873.] Our Young Contributors. 115 

An hour afterward a group might have been seen in my father's mansion, congratu- 
lating two youths upon their escape from death ; and a skate might have been seen 
to pass into the hands of one of these boys, while the other claimed the hand of the 
belle of the day. The boy who received the skate was Harry Brand ; the other was 

myself! \ 

"Filbert? 



A VISIT TO AN ALMSHOUSE. 

Ons cold morning in January, accompanied by a friend, I visited the city alms- 
house, situated about a mile and a half from town. 

The grounds were beautifully laid out, and the gardens in summer must be very 
fine. We were met at the door by the matron, who gave us a very cordial welcome, 
and kindly offered to show us through the house, — an offer which we gladly accepted. 
We passed down the narrow hall, and entering a door at the right, found ourselves 
in a long apartment, which we recognized as the dining-room. Everything was plain, 
but perfectly neat ; and from such clean white tables one might suppose that even 
coarse food would be palatable. 

Thence we proceeded into the work-room, which was filled with old and young. 
Little girls, appearing hardly more, than babes, sat sewing their patchwork ; and the 
old men and women seemed to be doing what they could. As we were passing 
along, our attention was attracted towards an old man, whose silvery locks and 
trembling frame betokened but a short stay here. The peaceful expression of his 
face and his " far-away look " assured us that his heart was not here, but rested in 
that brighter and happier land, towards which he had been so long journeying. We 
stopped not to question him ; but, feeling that he was almost home, we passed him 
with reverence. 

There was another, — a little girl, from whose sunny face even poverty had failed to 
chase away the sunbeams, — "as merry and mischievous a little waif as ever was 
sent to be a botheration and a blessing to any almshouse," the matron assured us, 
pointing with an indulgent smile to a group of children huddled together in a sunny 
corner, in the midst of whom sat the little girl, busily engaged, not in plying but 
applying her morning task — a square of patchwork — to an afflicted toe belonging 
to a little boy companion. With her great dark eyes sparkling with merriment, and 
the sunlight weaving golden threads in her hair, she sat surrounded by the plain, 
uninteresting faces of her companions, like a rare exotic in a bed of thistles. She 
was a little refugee, the matron said ; a refugee from what f As we gazed upon the 
childish group, the prayer escaped us that they all might be refugees from sin and 
want and sorrow. 

We passed on ; there were idiots, in whose changeless faces intelligence had set 
no sign ; vacant, cheerless tenements of clay, they were unwarmed by love and happy 
hope. Two old women sat by the fire smoking their pipes, and croning together in 
broad Scotch and glib-tongued Irish. There were helpless men, whose faces betok- 
ened, not that silver-haired age which softens the heart, and perfects the trust, and 
ripens the goodness of the soul, but the age, alas ! of sin and dissipation. Idleness 
had clothed them with rags, and brought them to the house of the destitute. 

Ah, well ! they were all God's poor. We passed out into the clear morning air 
with feelings of relief, and went back to our pleasant homes with softened, pitying 
hearts towards the homeless ones of earth. 

D. M. A"., age 15. 

Ottawa, Kansas. 



Il6 Our Young Contributors. [February, 

THE CHICKADEE. 

The birds have all flown to their homes in the south, 

The flowers are withered and dead, 

The feathery snow-flakes come hurrying down, 

And the pleasant south breezes have fled: 

But the brave little chickadee, cheery and bold, 

Stays with us all winter, not minding the cold. 

Though the meadow-lark's carol is sweeter by far. 

And the bluebird is gaylier dressed, 

Still of all the sweet songs of all the bright throngs, 

Little chickadee's song is the best 

For this brave little chickadee, cheery and bold, 

Stays with us all winter, not minding the cold. 

When the birds have all flown to their homes in the south, 

And the snow-flakes have earth gently pressed, 

The chickadee comes in the winter to stay, 

And that 's why I like him the best 

Yes, the brave little chickadee, cheery and bold, 

Stays with us all winter, not minding the cold. 

Eudora May Stone, age 12. 
r. Neb. 



SACRO BAMBINO. 

Fred and I were sauntering along Capitol Hill, in Rome, one morning, each 
engrossed with his own thoughts. I was far across the ocean again in my own home, 
telling the dear ones of the wonders I had seen, when Fred brought me to things 
present by exclaiming, "What on earth is this coming?" I looked up, and there 
saw what was well calculated to draw forth his astonishment 

About a block off, two old priests were advancing at a snail's pace, one dragging 
what appeared to be an enlarged toy-cart, the other meekly following it As they 
drew nearer, we were better enabled to note details. The priests were clad in long 
white robes, reaching to their ankles. Over these were black gowns, coming down 
to the knee. Three-cornered caps of sable hue formed the covering for the head. 
But, as if to make up for the sombreness of the priests, the " cart " shone forth with 
dazzling splendor. 

A golden chariot with coverlet of velvet, satin, and lace, no wonder it called forth 
the admiration and adoration of the faithful as it passed along. But while we were 
watching, it disappeared in the impenetrable darkness of a neighboring church. 
Wondering what it could be, we resumed our walk, Fred satisfying himself with the 
remark, "It's some popish mummery evidently." 

Next morning, as I stood at the hotel window, picking my teeth meditatively, Fred 
came up softly behind me, gave me anything but a gentle love-tap, and shouted 
at the top of his voice, "Joy to the world, the mystery is solved I Tickets to the 



1873J Our Young Contributors^ 117 

Bambino, one dollar, United States currency. Get your ckapeau, and away we 11 
go. 

" Tickets ? Bambino ? One dollar 7 " exclaimed I, bewildered. " Pray, what are 
you driving at, Fred T " 

" Well, my dear boy, simply this, — that, if you will put on your hat, I will lead 
you to a place where you can learn all you want to know about that little cart we 
saw the priest dragging through the streets yesterday. 1 ' 

" Then let 's go ! " Whereupon, seizing our caps, we started out 

After a short walk we reached the church where we had seen the priests disappear 
the day before. Fred now informed me that we were standing before the church of 
the " Ara Coeli," built on the site of an ancient Temple of Jupiter, and belonging 
to a convent of Franciscan friars. 

Pushing aside the dirty leathern curtain, which hangs before every church door in 
Italy, we found ourselves inside the building, but so blinded by the sudden transition 
from light to darkness we had to stand a minute to collect our scattered senses. 
Seeing a priest near by, Fred went up to him and asked if we might see the Bambino. 
He answered in the affirmative, and bade us follow him. After crossing the uneven 
floor of the church, and wending our way through several dark and crooked passages, 
we at last found ourselves in the chapel dedicated to the object of our search. The 
apartment was as black as Egypt, but the priest mended matters by lighting two 
enormous candles. He now stepped up on a raised platform, and proceeded to sat- 
isfy our curiosity. 

First, he pushed up a sliding door, then, mumbling various prayers, he unlocked 
one or two others, and the Bambino lay before us in all its glory. But our attention 
was drawn from it to the priest, who was down on his knees, crossing himself and 
mumbling over prayers in a manner most wonderful to behold. Presently he arose, 
and, approaching the shrine, took the doll from its cradle, and placed it on a stand 
covered with a gorgeous red cloth. We now approached to examine. It is a wooden 
figure, from twenty to twenty-four inches in length, supposed to repfesent the infant 
Saviour, and it is gravely asserted that it was carved by St Luke from a tree of the 
Mount of Olives. Its dress is made of satin and lace, and it is covered with dia- 
monds, pearls, and gems of every kind from head to foot Its feet are incased in 
golden shoes. 

Having gazed till we had "got our money's worth," as practical Fred whispered, 
we stepped back. The priest asked if we would not like to kiss the foot, but we 
respectfully declined, leaving that inestimable privilege to the more faithful. We 
were now ready to go, but the priest had to bow, kneel, and mutter all over again, 
before he could lay it away. 

On our way home, Fred told me the chief virtue of the Bambino lay in its healing 
power, and that it earned as much money as all of the doctors of Rome put together. 
It had undoubtedly been out on an errand of this kind when we first made its 
acquaintance. 

" Well, Fred, what are you knitting your brows over now ? M 

" O, I am out of patience, to see how these poor superstitious people are hum- 
bugged, and made to believe all this nonsense by those wily old priests ! But I 
suppose faith* in something is better than faith in nothing." And I don't know but 
Fred was right 

"Bilboquet" 



n8 Our Young Contributors. [February, 

AT THE FAIR. 

The children crowded around the table where the nuts and candy and fruit were 
sold. Of course they did. They did not care for the tidies and sofa-pillows and 
other knick-knacks which adorned the fancy tables ; and the mysteries of the " Art 
Gallery " offered no attractions to them ; and, though they laughed at the funny- 
looking gypsy woman, they had no desire to know what their fortunes would be ; 
neither did they indulge in the mild forms of gambling which so excited their elders. 
So the candies and the fish-pond were all that were left to them, and, of the two, the 
former had far the greater attractions. 

Of all the waiters at this table there was one who was the children's special favor- 
ite. I don't think the charm lay in her curly hair, or merry brown eyes, or in the 
dimples that came and went so cunningly when she laughed and talked, or in the 
dainty white dress, with its blue sash and bows. The secret of it was, that Miss 
Vannie loved children dearly ; and children are never slow in recognizing their real 
friends. 

Among the noisy little group who gathered about the tables, going and coming 
as they made their purchases, or had teased a little more money from papa, Miss 
Vannie noticed one forlorn little chap, with a wistful look in his great blue eyes that 
went straight to her heart Though he was often jostled aside by some impatient 
little comer, he stuck to his post as if unwilling to lose sight of the dainties he so 
longed for. After watching him awhile, she leaned over the table and asked him 
his name. 

" My name 's Bertie Harris. You keep store, don't you ? " he replied, readily 
enough. 

Then Miss Vannie picked out the fairest of the apples and pears and peaches, and 
the choicest of the nuts and candy, and put them in little paper bags. Then, taking 
out her pocket-book, she paid for them, and gave them to Bertie (who had been 
watching her intently), saying, " Here 's something for you, Bub." 

Was n't " Bub " delighted then 1 The other children gathered around with ex- 
clamations of surprise and admiration, and Miss Vannie, looking on, enjoyed it 
all. 

Bertie soon found a seat, and was so absorbed in his goodies, that for a time Miss 
Vannie lost sight of him. But as she was taking an ice-cream, and cooling her flushed 
cheeks at an open window, she felt a hand pulling at her dress, and there was Bertie, 
with a weary look on his dirty little face. 

" A big boy telled me to go 'way," he said. 

" Why don't you go and find your mother now?" suggested Miss Vannie. 

" She ain't here. She 's to home," he replied, with some surprise. 

" But who came with you ? " 

" Nobody did n't I come alone. M 

Miss Vannie thought it strange that so young a child should be allowed to go to 
such a place by himself. She resolved to take charge of him for the rest of the 
evening, and, taking his hand, said, "Come and help me tend table, won't you?" 

When installed behind the table, Bertie was very much in the way, though he 
flattered himself that he was doing wonders. For a time he was contented and happy, 
but soon a new attraction presented itself, A boy showed him a jumping-jack that 
he had caught in the fish-pond. 

" How much are you going to give me for helping you ? " he demanded. 



• I873-] Our Young- Contributors. 119 

Miss Vannie, astonished at the mercenary spirit of the little fellow, did not reply 
at once, and he went on, " 'Cause I want to fish now." 

Having got the money, he went off, and Miss Vannie soon heard his shouts of 
laughter from the other side of the room. 

But as she was in the midst of making change with a man who was in a violent 
hurry, he came up again. He had seen the "guess cake," and wanted to guess how 
much it weighed, and wouldn't she give him ten cents? So the little pocket-book 
had to come out again. 

Bertie balanced the cake-basket carefully on his fingers as he had seen the others 
do, and then "guessed" that it weighed "five pounds and eleven ounces," and if any 
one had been looking he might have seen a queer, amused smile on the man's face 
as he made a memorandum of it 

When every one who wanted to had guessed, the man made a little speech. He 
said, "Ladies and gentlemen, the cake weighs five pounds and eleven ounces. It 
was guessed by Master Bertie Harris, though several others came very near it. Mas- 
ter Bertie, I congratulate you." And there was a general laugh as Bertie scrambled 
forward to get his prize. He soon came for Miss Vannie's congratulations, and a 
paper to wrap his cake in. 

Later in the evening, when nearly every one had left the hall, Miss Vannie assisted 
in putting away the remaining articles, and in counting the money taken in at the 
table. Then she put a little worsted hood over the pretty curls, and covered the 
white dress with a soft white shawl, and was just starting for home, when she hap- 
pened to think of Bertie. She hunted all about for him, and had just decided that 
he must have gone, when she found him asleep, half-hidden by the draperies of the 
fancy table, with his precious cake clasped close in his arms. 

With some difficulty she succeeded in making him understand where he was, and 
what she wanted. When this was done, she took the hand of the tired, cross little 
fellow, and they went to the head of the stairs, where they found some one waiting 
for Miss Vannie. 

It was a dark, cloudy night, and the shade of the tall trees on either side of the 
street rendered it still darker. Bertie clung close to Miss Vannie as they walked 
toward the upper end of the village where his father lived. 

The house was dark and still when they reached it In answer to their knocks, 
a window was thrown up, and a startled voice called out, " Who 's there ? " 

" We 've brought your little boy home." 

" My little boy I He 's been abed and asleep these six hours ! " was the indignant 
reply. 

" No, I ain't ; I 've been to the Fair," Master Bertie spoke up here. 

The door was soon opened, and the little runaway welcomed home again. 

Bertie interrupted the enthusiastic and very incoherent account of his adventures 
that he was giving to his father, to shout after his escorts, " Good by ! I 'm coming 
again." 

He was soon fast asleep, dreaming over the excitements of the evening. This was 
Bertie's experience at the Fair. 

C. E. M. 

Fkyebusg, Maine. 

THE YOUNG LEXICOGRAPHERS. 
Little Tessa Love had come to visit my little sister Cella. They were great 
friends, and two brighter, sweeter children could not be found anywhere. This par- 



120 Our Young Contributors. [February. 

ticular day was a burning hot one in July, and they vent out to play under a large 
oak, taking with them all their movable toys. I followed them at a respectful distance 
with a book, intending to "keep an eye " on them while pretending to read ; it was 
delicate work, for they would have been highly indignant if they had imagined they 
were being minded! I sat down on the other side of the tree, and opened my book ; 
they prattled on like two young magpies, and I listened. 

" I 've taked the head off my china doll again, Cella, and put it on the little body." 
"You shouldn't say 'taked,' my dear," said Cella, patronizingly; "'tooked' 
sounds much better." 

" O, pshaw 1 I don't speak French I " answered Tessa, scornfully. 
" French I " exclaimed Cella, superbly ; " that ain't French, it 's 'rithmetic ! " 
" Well, any way, I 've tooked it off and demented on the other with glue." 
" O, then your doll will be crazy now," said Cella, wisely, "for I heard Molly say 
that crazy Tim was a poor demented creature." 

" My Busy Bee crazy 1 " screamed Tessa in alarm ; " then I '11 pull it off again 1 " 
"You'd better," said Cella, with provoking calmness; "it might be dangerous." 
And off came the "demented" head once more. Tessa surveyed the decapitated 
body with tearful eyes, and mournfully said, " What '11 1 do now ? " 

" O, never mind," Cella said, soothingly, " we 11 get Berttie to sew it on." 
" I wish I had n't ha' done it now I " Tessa answered, remorsefully. " The poor 
dear didn't look a bit crazy." 

"O, it doesn't always show," said Cella, sagely. "If you had left her alone, 
she would have been sure to scratch out the eyes and punch the nose of every doll 
we have, in the night ; they always break out in the night time." And she shook her 
auburn curls. 

41 1 '11 put her away now ; the dear pet must be dreadful sick." And with many 
a tender word and fond caress she laid her treasure in her little sack, and, having 
tied it with her hair-ribbon, left it to repose at the root of the tree, while they both 
ran away to see the hens. I followed them into the barn-yard, where Tessa's peace 
of mind was soon restored by the cackling of the fowls and a successful hunt for 



" Tessa, look at that fine old chandelier ! " said Cella, pointing to one of the lords 
of the barnyard. 

" Where T" inquired Tessa, looking up at the ceiling of the shed, in vain, for the 
object mentioned. 

" O, I don't mean the glass one," Cella replied. " See here ! " 'and sha pointed 
more emphatically to the fowl which she chose to designate by that extraordinary 
epithet 

" Goodness gracious, Cella, what are you talking about ? Why, that 's a rooster 7" 
" O, that 's only his common name ; chandelier is a great deal more polite I " 
The dear child was so confident that she was using the right word, that I hadn't 
the heart to correct her, and so remained unobserved. They wandered off together, 
and for a short time I lost sight of them ; presently, just as I was beginning a search, 
I heard Cella calling out, "Come, Tess, there's papa, I know him by his white 
banana hat ! Let 's go and meet him." And slipping their arms around each other's 
necks, they skipped away to the garden gate, where a hand was given to each, and 
the misnamed Panama placed playfully on Tessa's golden curls ; and I, seeing them 
in safe keeping, returned to the house, where I concluded to write down one of their 
many funny conversations for the amusement of " Our Young Folks." 

Berttie Clarh, age 17. 




ACTING CHARADE. — VOWEL. 

. DRAMATIS PERSONA 
Suzette, a young girl. 
Stephen Lout, lover to Suzette. 
Grandmother to Suzette. 

ACT I.— Vow. 

Scene. — A room in a cottage. In the centre of the floor a table, on which are a pan 
•f apples j a knife, and plate. Suzette in holiday dress looking from the window. 
Grandmother with a broom in her hand regarding her with anger. 
Grandmother. Come here, you jade ! what are you doing there, 

When all this pan of apples is to pare, 

With sights and heaps of other work to do, 

That, mercy knows, I never shall get through ? 

Is that the way you mean to spend your days, 

Getting such saucy, idle, lazy ways ? 

Has that girl got an ear upon her head ? 

I 'm sure she has n't heard a word I 've said. 

(Suzette turns around and makes up a face.) 

She 's looking for that silly-pated fool 

That comes home with her from the singing-school. 

He 'd better not come here again to-night, 

For if I happen just to get a sight 

Of his round head inside this cottage door, 

There 's a new song I 11 teach him how to roar. 

Suzette, I say ! Pray, how long shall I speak ? 
Suzette. I 'm sure I don't care if you talk a week. 

Grandmother. You don't go out of doors for that to-night. 
Suzette {in great alarm). Why, grandma, do you think that would be right ! 
Grandmother. Faugh ! that palaver now I understand ; 

Just draw a chair up that side of the stand, 

And pare away as quick as you can wink. 
Suzette. I 've done enough for one day, I should think ; 

You knew that I expected to go out, 

And now to go and get that work about, 

Just at the time when I expect to rest, 

When I have put on all my Sunday's best, 



122 the Evening Lamp. [February, 

I think it 's just as mean as it can be ; 
And if you think to get that out of m« 
You 're much mistaken, for I tell you now, 
I won't touch one of them, and that I vow. 
GRANDMOTHER. Such impudence I never heard till now ! 
(She holds up her hands in horror.) 
But since you 're in the humor, Miss, to vow, 
You '11 make one that perhaps will spoil your sleep, 
But one that I intend that you shall keep. 
Promise you will turn off that Stephen Lout ; 
There, don't turn that way and begin to pout, 
You 've got to vow you 11 give him up. 

SUZETTE. I CUi » t 

Grandmother. I tell you now you must 

Suzette. I say I sha' n't 

Grandmother. We '11 see whether you '11 come to terms or not 

/ vow you sha' n't stir one step from this spot ; 

You need n't toss your head and laugh and sneer ; 

You think perhaps your Stephen will come here. 

I '11 lock the door and take away the key, 

The window is too small for such as he. 
(She goes out and locks the door after her, ) 
SUZETTE. You cross old bear ! I think you '11 get your pay, 

We '11 have a pleasant reckoning some day. 

If you could only see what I can show, 

I guess you would n't be so fast to go. 

( Takes a key from her pocket and holds it up.) 

ACT IL— L 

Scene. — Room as before. Suzette sitting disconsolately by the stand. Door un- 
locked and partly open. 
Suzette. How can I pass the time away, I wonder, 

Till Stephen comes. I think I 've made a blunder 
In vowing not to work, for, to my sorrow, 
I know 1 11 have it all to do to-morrow. 
(Takes up the knife.) 
' I '11 do it any way, I '11 pare and core, 

But then she 11 think 't was 'cause she locked the door ; — 
I won't, I vow. 
(Sits a moment thinkings and then claps her hands. ) 
O, I know what I '11 see ! 
It 's who my future husband is to be, 
For some one told me just the other day, 
That if I M pare an apple smooth — this way, 
( Taking up an apple and beginning to peel \) 
And have the skin quite whole without a break, 
Then twist it round my head three times, 't would make, 



1873] 



The Evening Lamp. 



123 



When I should drop it, the initial letter 
Of one who loves me, though I 'm sure no better 
Than I love him, that is, if it should tell 
The truth by making it the letter L. 
{She takes the peel, and swinging it around her head three times lets it fait, then gets 
down upon her knee to examine it. ) 

ACT IIL — Vowel. 

Scene. — Suzbtte on the floor as in last scene. Enter Stephen, who looks over 
her shoulder before she sees him. 
Suzette {starting up). O, how you frightened me, you came so sly ! 

I was so tired waiting, I — that is — I — 
• Stephen. You thought you 'd look into futurity, 

And find out who your husband was to be ; 
But if you ask me I can tell you best, 
Not only the first letter, but the rest 
About his name, and that his heart is true, 
And' filled brimful of honest love for you. 
{He puts his arm around her waist. She turns aside and plays with her apron. ) 
He *s here beside you now ; what do you say, 
Will you consent to marry him some day ? 
(Suzette hesitates, and then turns around and is just about being kissed, when she per- 
ceives her Grandmother in the door. She starts, and makes a little motion to 
Stephen to stop.) 
Stephen {not understanding). A ? 

(Suzette again makes a motion for him to look behind him.) 
Stephen. Eh? 

Suzette {turning round boldly). I — 
Grandmother {trembling with rage). O, you ! 

[ Tableaux in present position. 
VEtranger. 

Not*. — The door and window of the cottage should be at the back, in foil view of the audience. 
The exclamations at the last should hare the foil rowel sounds. 



ILLUSTRATED REBU S.— No. 17. 




e. y. P. 



124 



The Evening Lamp. 



[February, 



GEOGRAPHICAL PUZZLE. 
No. 18. 
We went to a river in Germany to set 
dinner. The bay in Southern Africa was 
covered with a sea in Russia cloth, and 
it was furnished with an old and broken 
country in Asia. When dinner was ready, 
the landlady, who looked like a river in 
South America, made a noise with a river 
in Montana. Then the bay in Alaska 
served a river in Idaho which had too much 
East India islands in it, and a river in 
Minnesota which savored too much of a 
classic land, which gave a city in Egypt a 
pain in the city of France. We had some 
Pacific islands made of a village in France, 
which were quite good ; we had also a city 
in Africa bread ; and for an island on the 
coast of Maine we had a river in South 
America and a river in Africa. In the 
midst of our dinner we were disturbed by 
a river in Russia running across the table. 
We then went to take a cape of North 
Carolina on a city in Minnesota, which 
was quite a sea near China. As it was a 
country in South America, I put on a 
country of Africa. A city in Australia 
put on a lake in California veil, fastened 
with a river in British America, also a 
city in Hindostan shawl. Then a Mary- 
land cape began his cape of Washington 
Territory, and a city in Australia declared 
that she would not be islands in the Pa- 
cific with him. Our river in British 
America was much disturbed by the ap- 
pearance of a strange island in the Irish 
Sea. A cape of Alaska had a river in 
Mississippi ring. I had a river in Cana- 
da bag, made of a city in North Africa. 
In a little while we went down to a city 
in Kentucky. There we bade a cape of 
Greenland. 

Julia J. Stimson, age 10. 

METAGRAM. — No. 19. 
First, I am a company. Change my 
head,' I am part of the body. Change 
again, I am one third of the earth. Change 
again, I am found on the seashore. 
Change again, and fairies use me. 

Wesley. 



PRIZE REBUS.— No. 2a 
A Dinner -Table Question. 



f^^Msr 




Nitty Maginn. 
CURIOUS COMPARISON. — No. 21. 

Positive. 
He shifted his wearisome load, 
As he strode down the dark, long road. 

Comparative. 
In what place would he sell 
All his goods of shell 
And of wood ? Who can tell ? 

Superlative. 
He fitted a belt on a beautiful girl, 
Emblazoned with gold and amber and 

pearl: 
All the rest of his goods, with a rapid 

whirl, 
Were cast away by a cruel churL 

Jack Straw. 

ANAGRAM BLANK.— No. 22. 
Words of 5 letters. 

John after eating — a long 

, and has a good 

" Two Wkites. n 

ENIGMA.— No. 23. 
My first is in lair, but not in den. 
My second 's in vale, but not in glen. 
My third is in green, but not in blue. 
My fourth is in cry, but not in mew. 
My fifth is in ewe, but not in lamb. 
My sixth is in pork, but not in ham. 
My seventh is in Spain, but not in France. 
My whole is the name of a popular dance. 
Collie G. Quint. 



1873-] 



The Evening Lamp. 



125 



WORD SQUARES. — No. 24. 

1. A title. 

2. Employed. 

3. Sharp. 

4. A girl's name. 

Collie G. Quint. 

No. 25. 

1. Royal. 

2. A girl's nickname. 

3. A poetical name for valley. 

4. Helped. 

5. A manufacturing city in England. 

Lucy BitHnger, age 13. 
ENIGMAS.— No. 26. 
I am composed of 17 letters. 
My 17, 6, 16, 9, is a luscious fruit 
My 4, 1 5, 11, appertains to a lock. 
My 7, 2, 12, 14, is one deficient in intel- 
lect 
My 1, 8, 5, 10, is a part of the ear. 
My 7. 3. 13. 9, i» a digit 
My whole is a well-known proverb ex- 
pressing caution. 

At. F T. K. S. S. 



CHARADE. — No. 27. 

My First. 

I am noiseless and delicate, soft, white, and 

pure, 
Yet able long journeys with ease to en- 
dure: 
I'ma child of the North, and I shrink from 

heat, 
I fly without wings, and depart without 
feet 

My Second. 
Though powerful, I yet may be moved by 

a breath ; 
I often save life, but often cause death. 
On the round cheek of childhood I daily 

appear, 
And sometimes I hang from the proud 
beauty's ear. 

My Whole. 
In soft white hood and mantle green, 
This modest little maid is seen ; 
Though frosty winds may whistle shrill, 
She thrives, and smiles upon us still. 

Laura D. Nichols: 



GEOGRAPHICAL REBUSES. 
No, 2& No. 29, 





mr 



s= 



^ 



E.J. P. 



E. 7 P. 



ANSWERS. 



MART 
AREA 
REAP 
TAPE 



3. Boat, oat, at, t(ea> 

4. FAIR 
AIRE 
IRON 
R N B N T 

5. Longfellow, Lowell, and Saxe are pot 
by tome, though equal to Tennyson. Browning, 
and Hood. [(LongF L bw) (low L) (and) (sacks) 

6. Maasachaaettsi (M, ass, a chew, set, s.) 

7. Hong Kong in China. (H &n G Km6,m 



N 


E 


A 


R 


E 


A 


S 


E 


A 


S 


K 


S 


R 


B 


S 


T 



0. 1. Mayor, a. Dax. 3. Cowee. 4. Colt. 
5. Bolls. 6. Hare. 7. Welch rabbit. 8. Eagles. 
9. The Phoenix, because it rises from its hashes 



CLAM 
LAME 
AMEN 

MEND 

11. Saratoga. 

1a. 1. Boone, a. Nelson. 3. Ethan Allen. 4. 
Cornwallis. 5. Decatur. 6. Ravelock. 7. Put- 
nam. 8. Egmont 

13. 1. Calico, a. Silk. 3. Merino. 4. Cotton. 
5. Delaine. 6. Alpaca. 7. Gingham. 8. Velvet. 
9. Linen. 

14. Fee : fear ; feast. 

15. Dolly Varden. _ m . 

16. 1. Goldfinch, a. Bine Jay. 3. Nightin- 
gale* 4. Partridge. 5. Robin. 




THE PRIZE REBUS. 

T^OR the benefit of new subscribers, we will 
•*■ state that at the request of correspondents, 
who wished to get up a prizs rebus among them- 
selves, the following terms, suggested by them, 
were published in "Our Letter Box" last No- 
vember : — Each rebus sent in for competition to 
be accompanied by the sum of ten cents ; and all 
the money thus contributed to be given as a prize 
to the author of the best rebus ; the decision being 
left — rather against their will — to the editors. 

There were not many competitors for this prize, 
as was to have been expected ; and no rebus sent 
in appears so decidedly superior to the rest as to 
make our choice easy. The best of all, in some 
respects, was by one of our Young Contributors ; 
but a quotation from Mrs. Hemans which it 
claimed to illustrate proved to be a Misquotation, 
and so it had to be thrown out 

After a careful sifting, two were left, — one by 
Hitty Maginn, and the other by William H. Dab- 
ney, Jr., — both good, but the latter seemed rather 
too easy, and the former, though witty and inge- 
nious, almost too difficult. In balancing between 
these two, we have concluded to give a prize to 
each, in this way : — 

The whole amount of money contributed is three 
dollars and twenty-five cents, and this we award 
as follows : — 

First Prize, to Hitty Maginn, St Louis, Ma, 

To this we add an equal sum, as our contribu- 
tion to the pool, and award it thus : — 

Second Prize, to William H. Dabney, Jr., Mass. 
Institute of Technology, Boston, $3.25. 

Hitty Maginn'* Rebus is given in this month's 
" Evening Lamp." The other will appear in our 
next. 

7. L. D. — We have never seen a translation 
of Madame de Pressensi's " Rosa," yet there may 
be one. 

Pkonex, Jr.— "The American Home Book 
of In-Door Games, Amusements, and Occupa- 
tions," is the best recent work on the subject with 
which we are acquainted. Published by Lee ft 
Shepard, Boston. 

Many Inquirer*. — It costs $ 1.00 to bind a vol- 
ume (twelve numbers) of "Our Young Folks " in 



the usual style. Send your magazines to the pub- 
lishers, or to our New York agents, E. P. Dutton 
& Co., and they will return them in a beautiful 
book. Or send 50 cents for a cover, which can 
be mailed to you and put on by any book-binder. 

Editors of "Our Young Folks": — 

I have now unbounded confidence in the sagaci- 
ty and penetration of Our Young Folks. Often 
have my pet puzzles, my strongest positions long 
deemed impregnable, been carried by storm by 
them. Thus confiding, I propound the following 
charade: — 

My first is a letter; 
My second a word ; 
My third is a beast ; 
My whole is a bird. 
I do not give the answer to it for several tea- 
sons. One is that I do not know it No answer 
as yet exists. The charade struck me just as it 
is, but I feel convinced that there must be some 
sort of an answer to it, for it sounds all right 
I have no doubt that one of Our Young Folks will 
cut the knot and thus make a debtor for life of 
Yours truly, 

Jack Straw. 
P. S. If I find out the answer myself I will im- 
mediately forward it J. S. 

We have 'discovered an answer, —yes, two an- 
swers, after a little reflection ; but we withhold 
them for the present, and wait to see what Our 
Young Folks will say to Jack Straw's riddle. 

A Western c o rre sp o nd ent sends us this puzzle, 
cut from an old scrap-book. Who can solve it 
for him? 
" A headless man had a letter to write ; 
It was read by one who had lost his sight ; 
The dumb repeated it word for word ; 
And be was deaf who listened and beard." 

G. K. Peirce (age 13) asks : — 

1. In a discussion can there be harmony with- 
out unity ? 

s. What is the origin of " Thanksgiving " day ? 

3. Who wrote " Samuel Slick " ? 

Answers. 1. Certainly, if by unity you mean 
oneness of opinion. Varieties of opinion, ad- 
vanced in a noble and true spirit make harmony 
in a discussion, Vke chords in musk; sameness 
of opinion makes monotony. 



I873-] 



Our Letter Box. 



127 



2. The (int New England Thanksgiving was 
observed by the Pilgrims, when, after a season of 
severe privations, they bad gathered their first 



3. M Sam Slick " (not " Samuel ") was written 
by Judge Haliburton of Nova Scotia. He died 
011865. 

I trad A» iTelsey*s word of nine letters, from 
which thirteen other "good dictionary words" 
are formed, is sheathing; and the words are, she, 
he, sheat, sheath, heath, heat, eat, at, thing, thin, 
hi*, inking: 

Our Young Contributors. Accepted articles : 
"Setf-Porgetfuluess," by NeUie G. Cone; "/« 
the Fog," by C. J. Hedrick; "Sunshine and 
Shade*," by Endora M. Stone; "An Adven- 
tun in a Steeple," by W. F. P. ; M Royal High- 
jm**," by W. S. Walsh; and "At Twilight," 
by Willie Wilde. 

Anihathoarliatfothene^nhle mention: "The 
Blue-Ceat School," a description of Christ's Col- 
lege, London, by Mark S. HnbbeU ; " A Visit to 
the Moon? by Ethel ; " A Thanksgiving Par- 
tj? by Fred : M Ole Bull," by H. Hardy; " The 
Blush Rose," by "Ruhtra " ; " Sam's Autobiog- 
raphy," by M. M. C; "Peace and War," by 
Mary C Sinclair; " The Beautiful Gate," by 
Edith Grant ; " The Little Queen," by Foy ; and 
" Stepping Places," by Louis Webster. " Noth- 
ing New under the Sun," by Mabel Loomis. 

"My Brmmleigh Ghost" and "Honey Bees" 
show various talents in the writer, — especially a 
certain freedom of fancy and expression, — but 
they are somehow unfinished. Does not the writer 
see that many of the lines are rough and unrhyth- 
mical? 

Ruby Vernon's sketch of " New Year's Eve " 
» pretty well written, but — since she asks our 
opinion — we are compelled to say that it indicates 
no special talent in the writer. 

u A Midnight A dventure" is an exciting nar- 
rative, but h has not the air of probability. 

"Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea" 
a the surprising title of a still more surprising 
book, translated from the French, and published 
in America by J. R. Osgood ft Co. It describes 
a voyage in search of a mysterious and terrible 
lea monster, which proves to be a submarine 
vessel, that dives to the bottom or rises to the 
surface at the will of its commander, lights up 
the deep by a wonderful electrical apparatus, sails 
around and under the fastest steamship moving 
at foil speed, and is capable of striking a blow 
with hs beak that will pierce the strongest huIL 
The teller of the story, lost overboard from his 
ship, is picked up by this vessel, and afterwards 
makes his voyage of twenty thousand leagues 
raider the sea in her, — and a marvellous voyage 
it is. The book is of course an extravagant fic- 



tion, but it is so well written, and so profusely and 
superbly illustrated, that it must take rank as one 
of the most unique and entertaining romances of 
the sea since Robinson Crusoe. 

C. A. Stephens has followed up his admirable 
little " Camping Out " story with two more vol- 
umes of the series, " Left on Labrador," and " Off 
to the Geysers," which continue the adventures 
of Kit and his friends with unflagging interest 
These books are to be cordially commended for 
their naturalness of style and healthy tone, and 
the vast amount of information pleasantly con- 
veyed in the course of the narrative. 

We are sure that every one who reads the inter- 
esting little story of " Clarence Shank," in this 
number of our magazine, will be glad to see the 
following letter received from the writer's sister. 

Watbrbury, Conn. 
Editor of "Our Youkc Folks": — 

Your letter making inquiries with regard to the 
truthfulness of the story of " Clarence Shank," 
was received on Saturday ; and as my sister is in • 
New York, I reply for her. 

The story is true in every particular ; and oc- 
curred while my sister and myself were visiting 
in Binghamton. We saw a little sketch of the 
boy's adventures in the Binghamton daily news- 
paper, and were so interested in the statements 
that we determined to ascertain if possible the 
truth of the story. We sought out the boy, and 
found him to be a bright little fellow of eleven 
years, still suffering from his frozen feet, and look- 
ing quite sober over his adventures. He told 
his story to us, not without much urging on our 
part, however, and gave us a few kernels of the 
corn which he had left in his pocket, and which 
was the only thing in the way of food that the 
child had tasted from Friday morning till Satur- 
day night Hoping that Clarence may read his 
own story in •• Our Young Folks," 

I remain, very respectfully, 

Florence C. Prichard. 

New York, December 16, 187* 
Dbarkst "Young Folks": — 

Your January number for 187s (which I have 
just received) eclipses if possible its predecessors, 
and was right welcome. 

I will try to answer the questions advanced by 
" Ignoramus." The first quotation, 

" Standing with reluctant feet," etc., 
is taken from Longfellow's beautiful poem entitled 
"Maidenhood." The second, 

" Heavily hangs the broad sunflower," etc, 

is from Tennyson's song, the first lines of which 
are, 



' A spirit haunts the year's last hoars 
Dwelling amid the yellowing bowers.'* 



The third, 



128 



Our Letter Box. 



[February. 



" Had the sea to atamber stffljr." etc.. 
is taken from Campbell's song, 

" How delicious is the winning 
Of a kiss at love's beginning," etc 

I have given the first lines of the poems, for the 
reason that some books have the songs indexed 
by the first lines. 

Yours truly, 

Chaslbs Huntington. 

Answered also, in whole or in part, by " Fi- 
dele," J. H., and Guy Livingstone. 

ABU IV. WhtoUr also answers " Ignoramus," 
and says with regard to the first question : " By 
the way, ' Ignoramus * misquotes the line, 
" ' Womanhood and childhood fleet/ — 
notrawr. 

" a. Webster defines Eidolon as ' an image or 
representation, a form, phantom, or apparition." 
Eidoia is the plural 

"3. Mel-oo-see'nah and Yo-sem'i-te." 

Elizabeth, N. J , December a, 1879. 
Dear " Young Folks •• : — 

I have taken your magazine ever since 1868; 
and I think every number becomes more and more 
interesting. I don't know what I should do if I 
did not get it at all. I have 1868 bound (not the 
year, but the magazine), and I know people who 
would read it, but would net subscribe to it be- 
cause " it was too ' babyish.' " I should like to 
ask a few questions, if you would be kind enough 
to answer them. 

x. Do you ever pay for enigmas, word squares, 
etc.? 

3. Why is it I never see the versions of the 
picture stories ? 

3. Are the names of the persons who send the 
answers to the puzzles, placed in order, — those 
who send the greatest number first, the next best 
after that, and so on ? 

I hope you will excuse me if I ask too much. 
Hslkn F. Mackintosh. 

Answers. 1. Our " Evening Lamp " is a sort 
of social circle where our young friends get to- 
gether — figuratively speaking — and amuse each 
other. Their labor is its own reward. 

a. Versions of the Picture Stories are apt to 
come in late, after the " Letter Box " is too lull to 
make room for them. Early and good versions 
we shall always be glad to print 

3. Yes, that is our rule, though we are not al- 
ways able strictly to adhere to it, many answers 
coming in after our lists are made up, and just as 
we are returning the last proofs to the printer. 

NeUU S. Skotdon asks Our Young Folks the 
following questions. Who can answer them, or 
any of them, for her ? 

1. What was Harmonia's fatal collar, or, rather, 
why was it fetal? 



a. What woman in mythology is r e pre s en ted 
riding on a tortoise ? 

3. Who was the " Grand Panjandrum M ? 

4. What is the origin of the expression " We 
can cry quits n ? 

Dear Editors: — 

Will some of your Young Folks please answer 
these questions through the M Letter Box " ? 

1. Why will a fire just started burn better in a 
warm stove than in a cold one ? 

a. Why are newspaper reporters sometimes 
called "Jenkins"? 

3. Does the crown of England till to the eldest 
child or to the eldest boy? 

4. What is the "Grand Anti-Tobacco Army 
of Boys and Girls," mentioned in the " Letter 
Box " in 1871 ? Is there such a society now, mod 
where is it ? 

If you think these worthy of a place in the " Let- 
ter Box," please put them in, and oblige 

"An Old- Fashioned Girl." 

N.A.T. — The price of Maynard's u Natural- 
ist's Guide " is $ 2.00. Published by J. R. Os- 
good & Co. 

Hatty E. JFWZr. — "Will you tell me m the 
* Letter Box ' the meaning of Tennyson's ' Lady 
of Sbalott'? I cannot quite understand the 



Tennyson's poem is founded on a legend of the 
days of King Arthur, and in his hands the myth- 
ical " Lady of Shalott H becomes a maiden ab- 
sorbed in her own sweet dreams, and weaving her 
own free fancies, until the love of Lancelot comes 
to trouble her heart and destroy her life. Tenny- 
son has again used the same subject, following 
more closely the ancient legend, in that most 
beautiful and affecting of all the Idyls of the 
King, "Elaine." 

H. B. Barton. «— " John Anderson, my Jo," is 
one of Burns'* most popular songs. There seems 
to have been an old air of the same name, to 
which the poet wrote the well-known words. "My 
Jo " is a term of endearment 

The earliest and best answers to our last mont h's 
pilsales were sent in by T. L. R. R., Grace Shreve, 
Charlie Knight, Lottie and Harrie Carryl, Allie 
W. Wheeler, H. P. Rosenbach, Mary, Charles 
A. Clark, Jessie Lovell, Lizzie Grubb, Charlie 
E.C 

"Nothing new (gnu) undbe tub sun": 
of course it was, — die answer to that rebus which 
closed our "Letter Box" last month. Guessed 
by W. S. H., Charlie Knight, and others. 

And now who can read — and follow — this ex- 
cellent rue of conduct for the New Year? 



0,0 0. 



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waj. TV — BmImi Tmscrrpt. 



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%• Tor sale by Booksellers. Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 

JAMES R. OSGOOD A CO, Boston. 

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EVERY SATURDAY: 

A JOURNAL OF CHOICE READING. 



The j.hiu of Hvebt Saturday embracer ScrUI T«l .J mil Di- 

<% Sketrtie* of Travel" ami A'lventiiTo, TV i, Btogrftphtral Papers, Li&emy luioimaiion, 

— in fine, whatever comrihtttea to produce, a Weekly aeocpfcible and attractive to *ll dasm o1 
te1%cM American readers* 



"The fftfarltt wtfeclle weekly, EtrsfiT fttTVuB • 
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ffeftanra orrUJ.i to nt rmfdwL * - fi**f*n TV****,* 



TERMS* — Weakly Number, ten 0«n*i ; Monthly Part*, fifty cettU t Yo 
in advance,— four «loiler» n vesir to imbf crimen for any oth«r F*f$W 
Our TOUVQ Fouis, aud Kostm Amewcaji Bi:virw; l**ued by 

JAMES E, OSGOOD & CO., Publishers, Boston. 







BOYS ^ GIRLS 



BOSTON: 
S R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 



Subscription Owl New York City and Brook 

IUoadway, New Y 



CONTENTS. 

Doing his Best J. T. Trowbridge ... 129 

Chap. VI L Masts* Dinks takes a Hajcb. 
" VIII. A* UNEXPECTED Mmtwc 
** IX. In tkb Evening. 

( With afmBrfago mnd m imaOtr fOmatPu&n.) 

The Ugly Old Toad CD. Gardette .... 159 

Gracie's Kitty (Poem) Elizabeth A kers Allen . 147 

Young Abe Augustus Holmes ... 148 

(With two lB*$**wm.) 

A Talk about Electricity N. A. Eliot 156 

(With three llhuintions) 

Gussy's Coasting Anna Boynton AveriU . 164 

The Fox in the Well (Poem) J. T. Trowbridge ... 168 

{With**IU*$trati*nS> 

The Story op Florinda Mrs. Abby Morton Dion . 169 

Throwing Kisses Minnie B. Slade ... 177 

The Fall of a * Rocking-Stone n Unpublished "Camping Out* Sketches 178 
Our Young Contributors .180 

Sugar-Makers* Song (Poem). By Charles S. Trench. 
How we watched the Grape*. By Wm. S. Wmlxh, 
Shoes. By Goody Two Shots. 

The Evening Lamp 185 

Containing Impromptu Charade, " Phantom,*' by G. B. Baetlstt, Word Square* Sunk** 
Islands, Illustrated Rebuses, Enigmas, Metagram, Anagram, Puole, Answers, etc 

Our Letter Box 189 

Containing Notice by the Editor, Letters from Correspondents and Answer* etc. 



THE APRIL NUMBER 

Will contain three chapters of " Doing his Best,' 9 showing how Jack and lion went on 
a journey, and had a strange adventure at a village tavern ; " A Talk about the Tele- 
graph/' by N. A. Eliot ; " Uncle Joe's Little Samaritan," — a reminiscence of the Boston 
fire, — by Mrs. Diaz ; " The Day of Judgment," — a comedy that was almost a tragedy, — 
by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps ; " In a Rag-Bag," a story by Nora Perry ; and a variety of 
other stories, sketches, poems, etc 



TO SUBSCRIBERS. 



I3T" Every letter on business relating to " Our Young Folks " should have the name of the State as 
well as the Port-Office from which it comes. 

Persons ordering a change in direction of magazines should always give both the old and the mew address 
in full. And notice of the desired change should be given befewe the 5th of any month, in order that 
magazines for the following month may bear the proper direction. 

TERMS. —The price of Our Young Folks is $3.00 per year. No club terms. An extra copy gratia 
for every fire subscriptions. Our Young Folks and Atlantic Monthly, $ 5.00 per year. 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, Publishers, 
Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co., 

124 Tremont Street, Boston, 



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OUR YOUNG FOLKS. 

*An Illustrated Magazine 
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 



Vol. IX. 



MARCH, 1873. 



No. III. 



DOING HIS BEST. 
CHAPTER VII. 

MASTER DINKS TAKES A HAND. 

^IRST, Lon tackled Jack. To save himself from 
falling, Jack clutched Lon by the collar. 

Lon, lifting Jack's leg, at the same time butted 
his head into Jack's stomach. Jack responded by 
bearing heavily down on Lon, with one arm clasped 
under his breast and the other tightening across 
his throat 
Lon bit Jack's arm, the furious teeth finding 
flesh through coat and shirt-sleeve. Jack thereupon en- 
tangled four or five fingers in Lon's hair, took a twist or 
two, and bereft the parent scalp of a handful. 
Howls from Lon. " Let go, then ! " from Jack. 
The thing was growing serious. Phin came out from 
behind the door, and with pale and excited features 
looked wildly upon the combat he had caused. The 
girls shrieked ; the boys prompted and cheered. 

" Now 's your chance, Jack ! " " Throw him over 
your shoulder, Lon ! " " Hands off! fair play ! " 

" Stop them ! stop them ! Jack will get hurt ! " cried 
a piercing voice. " O, don't let them fight any more ! " 
It was the voice of Phin's little sister Kate, who ran back into the school- 
room, shrieking with fear and distress. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Jambs R. Osgood & Co., in the Office 
of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
VOL. IX. — no. in. 9 




130 Doing his Best. [March, 

The combatants in their struggle had staggered two or three times across 
the entry, when both fell together over a pile of wood at the end of it. 
They rolled off, and Lon came uppermost. 

Jack " turned " Lon. Lon " turned " Jack. 

Jack, being under, managed to draw up one foot under Lon's breast ; the 
crooked leg suddenly straightened, and away went Lon, over backwards/ 
Both sprang to their feet, and clinched again ; they tumbled and rolled and 
turned each other, and at last tumbled out at the door. 

That was the last tumble. Jack was uppermost. He had Lon down, and 
was choking him to make him say he would give up and behave himself in 
future ; and Lon was gasping and sputtering, " Help, Jim ! Ase, pull him 
off! " when up walked Master Dinks. 

" What are you doing here ? " And he seized Jack by the shoulder. 

" Nothing, only fighting a little," said Jack. 

" 1 11 give you fighting enough ! " said Master Dinks. " Get up, and go 
into the house." 

Jack jumped quickly to his feet, followed more slowly by Lon, who went 
limping after him into the school-room. 

" Stand out there in the middle of the floor till I 'm ready to settle with 
you," said Byron. 

And there they stood, after the school had been called to order, a sad and 
yet ludicrous spectacle. Both were covered with dust from head to foot, 
their hair wildly tumbled, their clothes torn, their faces scratched, and 
smeared with dust and blood. Poor Jack felt himself disgraced forever ; 
he hung his head, and shed tears of shame and despair. 

He had plenty of time for reflection before the threatened settlement 
came. Dinks kept the culprits standing there at least an hour, in their 
wretched plight, before he deigned to notice them. Jack meanwhile tried 
to comfort himself with the thought that he had acted in defence of Step 
Hen and Phineas ; that he had not wanted to fight, but had waited till he 
was actually attacked. Yet he could not help asking himself, " Was n't I 
a fool to interfere ? Why should I get myself into a scrape by trying to 
protect them ? Little thanks will I get for my pains, especially from Phin 1 
He 's grinning now in his seat. Why did n't I let Lon thrash him ?" Then 
something would rise up from the depths of his heart, calm and strong and 
sweet as the voice of conscience itself, whispering, " Perhaps you did n't 
take the wisest course, but you meant well. It would have been the part 
of a coward to stand by and see the strong tyrannize over the weak." Then 
that voice would be silent, and his doubts would return, until poor Jack 
was hardly able to distinguish right from wrong, or generous self-devotion 
from reckless folly. 

I suppose Master Dinks had all this time been considering how he should 
deal with so heinous a crime. At last he took a knife from his pocket (it 
happened to be Jack's knife), and said, "Who will go up into the woods 
and cut me four good whips ? " 

" I will ! " •' I will ! " And at least half a dozen boys sprang to their feet 



1873] Doing his Best 131 

" Smith Marston, you may go." 

Smith was accordingly despatched with the knife, and the offenders were 
again left to their reflections. 

" Lay them on the table," said Byron, when the whips came. " Boys may 
go out, — all but the two on the floor." 

The sight of the whips had called up a stubborn and desperate spirit in 
Jack. " Let him lick me ! I can stand it," thought he. " 'T won't be the 
first time I 've been punished for nothing. I 've tried to do my best, but 
it 's just the same, whether I do right or wrong.". 

He had noticed that Smith deposited the knife with the whips ; and now, 
pretending to step aside in order to let the boys pass him on their way out, 
he quietly moved over to the side of the table. A few moments later, he 
leaned carelessly on the table, covering the knife with his hand. When he 
removed his hand the. knife was gone. 

The boys were called in, and the girls had their recess. Then Master 
Dinks took the four whips, and seasoned one after the other in the fire, 
passing them quickly over the glowing coals. This process was perhaps 
designed quite as much to terrify the culprits, and to impress the other 
scholars with the awfulness of what might at any time overtake them, as to 
toughen the supple birch. The whips were then laid on the table again; 
and the girls were called in. 

"Now for that settlement," said Master Dinks. "When boys fight, I 
believe in giving them enough of it. Off with your coats." 

The coats were reluctantly laid aside. Byron inspected the whips, trying 
their strength and elasticity, and switching the air. 

" Which of ye began it ? " 

" He did ! " cried Jack, with swelling heart. He was going on to explain 
just how the thing occurred, when the master stopped him. 

"Never mind about that. It takes two to make a bargain, and it takes 
two to get into a fight. Take these whips." He placed one in the hand 
of each boy, and made them face each other. " You say 'Lonzo began it. 
So 'Lonzo may strike first. Then you may strike. I '11 keep tally. If you 
don't do the business up thoroughly for each other, I may have to take a 
hand. 'Lonzo, begin ; and don't be dainty." 

Lon gave Jack a gentle stroke over the shoulder, which Jack repaid as 
gently. The lookers-on giggled, and even the actors in the little drama 
had to laugh. 

" Harder than that ! " said the master. " I '11 show you ! " And he gave 
each a stinging cut across the back. 

Lon had not dared strike a hard blow before, being pretty sure of getting 
as good as he gave. In the rage kindled by the master's birch, however, 
he ventured a more vigorous stroke. Jack returned it with interest. That 
warned Lon to hit more lightly. But now the master's whip struck in, 
playing so lively an accompaniment to their duet, that each, driven to des- 
peration, furiously avenged his smart on the shoulders and head and ears 
of his antagonist Thus the spirit of fight, instead of being subdued, was 



132 



Doing his Best, 



[March, 



\x n : 




Rather Rouph ! 

so inflamed in them that when their whips were used up they would have 
gone at each other with their fists, if the master had not stopped them. 

" I Ml finish up for you, if you haven't had enough." And he gave each 
a final polishing off with a fresh whip. " Now you may put on your coats. 
I hope you Ve had fighting enough to satisfy you for one while. Those 
were pretty good whips, Smith. What did you do with the knife ? " 

" I laid it on the table with the whips," said the red-haired Smith. 

" There 's no knife here. Has anybody taken that knife ? " 

" I seen Jack Hazard take somethin' off f 'm the table and put it in his 
trouse's pocket," said the telltale Laura. 

" Have you that knife, Hazard ? " 

" It 's my knife ; I saw it lying there, and I took it." 

" Give it to me." 

Jack hesitated : his eyes blazed like fire through his tears. Dinks seized 
his ruler/ Then Jack, though with rage and rebellion in his soul, handed 
out the knife. 

" You would have got this back again in good time if you had n't taken 
it," observed the master, turning it in his hand, and finally laying it again 
upon the table. " You are a bad boy ; not conquered yet, I see. You will 
stay with me after school to-night. Now go to your seats." 

To reach their seats it was necessary to pass the master ; and they knew 



I873-] Doing his Best. 133 

pretty well what he had stationed himself in their way for. Lon went first ; 
and just as he passed Dinks gave him a kick in the rear. Jack followed. 
A multitude of wild thoughts seemed to rush through his soul in an instant 
of time, — all his wrongs, his disgrace and shame, and the threatened pen- 
alty still awaiting him. He had often thought, in calmer moments, that 
he could never bear a kick from the master, who had a habit of dismissing 
offenders in that way ; and now his heart was full. 

He passed on, however. Up went the Dinks foot to administer the 
parting kick, when, quick as a flash, Jack whirled, caught the uplifted leg 
in the very act, and overthrew the master with a great downfall and a mighty 
crash. He then darted to the table, where he took his knife ; then to the 
entry, where he got his cap ; then out at the door like a deer. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

Master Byron Dinks, falling in a ridiculous attitude, sprawled help- 
lessly on his back for a moment, with his legs on the stove-hearth and his 
head under the table, then scrambled upon his feet, and looked confusedly 
around for his escaped pupil and his ruler. 

" He run out ! " squeaked the telltale Laura. 

That was evident enough ; and Master Dinks, grasping his rujer, but 
without waiting to put on his hat or part Iris hair, ran out too. 

Now Jack might easily have got away, for he was a lively lad on his legs, 
and it is not probable that Master Dinks would have ventured upon a long 
race. But just as Jack in his strange plight and headlong hurry leaped out 
at the door, a lady and a gentleman in a sleigh drove up to it. 

" Jack ! " said the lady, putting aside her veil, and showing a sweet face 
full of surprise and anxiety. 

Jack stopped, stared wildly, and, after some hesitation, staggered up to 
the sleigh. " O Miss Felton ! " he began ; when a consciousness of his 
wretched situation overcame him, and his pent-up feelings broke forth in 
a sob.' 

Annie, astonished at his disordered clothes, his smeared and swollen 
features, and his bursting passion, began soothingly to question him, while 
she softly put back his straggling hair under his cap. Before he could get 
voice to answer, out rushed, with brandished ruler and flying hair, Master 
Byron Dinks. 

One avenging hand had already seized Jack's collar, while the other bore 
aloft the oaken weapon, when the gentlest voice in the world said, " Mr. 
Dinks ! " 

"I — I beg your pardon, Miss Felton ! I was n't aware — " stammered 
the schoolmaster, overwhelmed with embarrassment. 

M This is my brother, Mr. Dinks," said Annie. The brother, a big, burly 
fellow in buffelo-skin coat and cap, looked out with a merry twinkle from 



134 Doing his Best, [March, 

i 

the depths of his enveloping fur, and saluted Byron. " We are going to 
visit Aunt Chatford," Annie added, "and I thought you would be kind 
enough to let Cousin Kate ride home with us.V 

" Cer-cer-tainly," gasped poor Mr. Dinks, hardly knowing what to say 
or how to act. For, if the s truth must be told, he was an ardent admirer 
of Miss Felton, whose good opinion he prized more than that of any one 
else in the world ; and he could not help feeling that he was in a ludicrous 
position. " W-w-won't ye come in ? " 

Miss Felton declined the invitation with thanks, but said that she hoped 
to visit the school before long. " I have taught here, you know," said she, 
"and I feel a deep interest in my pupils. What is the trouble with Jack? 
He never went to school to me, but he has been my private pupil; and 
I always found him so docile and good a boy, I am amazed that he 
should ever have any trouble with his teacher." 

" I 've found him the worst boy in school ! " exclaimed Byron. " I pun- 
ished him this afternoon for fighting, when he flew at me like a tiger, 
pushed me back against the table, and ran out of school. Go back and take 
your place, sir, and I '11 settle with you to-night." 

Byron's hand had slipped from Jack's shoulder, when he found himself 
confronted by Annie Felton ; but he now attempted once more to take the 
lad into custody. Jack sprang round the sleigh. 

" He 's told one side of the story, but there 's another side ! He never 
asked how I came to fight ; and after he had abused me all I could bear, 
he. went to kick me. I ketched his leg, and capsized him." And Jack 
laughed nervously at the exciting recollection. 

" Caught, not ketched? said Annie, with a smile. 

" I should say you served him right," remarked the big brother, with a 
look of mingled fun and contempt at Mr. Dinks. 

" I — was sure any reasonable man would say so," began Mr. Dinks, un- 
easily. " For I — " 

" I mean that he served you right," the big brother pleasantly explained. 
" A master who kicks his scholars is n't fit to be in a school-room, and I 
don't blame him for running out. Hop into the sleigh, Jack, and ride home 
with us." 

Out of pity for Mr. Dinks, who turned red and sallow in streaks at this 
speech, Annie said, " Forrest, you are too bad ! Excuse my brother, Mr. 
Dinks ; he does n't mean — " 

" Yes, he does," interrupted the big brother. " Is there anything in the 
school-house you want, Jack ? " 

" Yes, my books." 

" Go in and get 'em. We '11 wait for you." 

Jack's heart leaped with joy at these friendly words from the brother of 
his best and dearest friend ; and I am afraid he enjoyed a little too keenly 
the proud triumph of marching back into the school-room, coolly gathering 
up his books in sight of the wondering pupils, and marching out again, past 
the glaring eyes and trembling ruler of Master Dinks, who hungered for a 



1873] Doing his Best 135 

good blow at him, but refrained from indulging in that luxury out of respect 
to the lady and her big brother outside. 

44 Katie," said Byron in a half-choked voice, " your cousin, Miss Felton, 
is waiting for you in a sleiglj ; you can go home." 

" May I go too ?" cried Phineas, springing to his feet. " Our folks said 
I might be dismissed." 

44 Go along ! " said the master, crossly. Rap, rap ! " The school must 
come to order ! " Just then a wad of chewed paper, commonly called a " spit- 
ball," struck him on the pimpled forehead, and stuck. He started back, put 
up his hand, and demanded, " Who throwed that ? " — in the confusion of 
the moment relapsing into the idiom of his boyhood. 

44 Rant Hildreth did, — I seen him ! " was piped from the front seat. 

41 Randolph Hildreth, come here ! " 

44 1 meant to shoot it at the stove pipe, and it slipped," was Rant's anxious 
explanation, as he obeyed. " All the boys was throwing when you was out, 
an' some o' the gals tu ! " 

Jack did not wait to hear the result of the inquiry into these disorders, 
but hastened, books and slate in hand, to rejoin his friends in the sleigh. 
Phin, already there, leaped in, and occupied the place offered to Jack. 

44 Come ! we can make room for you too," said Annie, noticing Jack's 
disappointed look. 

44 1 don't believe there '11 be any room after Kate gets in," said Phin. 

44 In that case you '11 have to get out and hang on behind," said Forrest 
Felton, <4 for I have already asked Jack to ride with us." 

44 Don't mind me ; I can walk. Here, Kate ! " And Jack helped the 
child into the sleigh, pulling the buffalo-robe up over her. " Go ahead ! " 

44 Let me take your books, if you walk," said Annie ; and, as she insisted, 
he gave them to her. " Phineas," she added, as they rode on, 44 it was hardly 
fair in you to crowd Jack out after we had invited him." 

44 O, he can walk," replied Phin, with a careless laugh. 

They reached the Chatford house, and, almost before the greetings be- 
tween the visitors and their relatives were over, Phin cried, "What do 
ye think 's the news ? Jack got a fighting to-day with Lon Gannett, and 
the master made 'em lick jackets before the whole school, and then he went 
to kick Jack as he was taking his seat, and Jack got hold of his leg and 
upset him under the table ; and Jack 's turned out of school, and here 's 
his books ! " 

44 Is this so ? " exclaimed Mrs. Chatford in great astonishment. 4< It can't 
be true ! " 

44 Yes, it is, every word of it ! " crowed Phineas, as if it had been the best 
news in the world. 

44 O Phin ! how can you speak so ? " remonstrated little Kate. 44 You 
know it was by trying to keep Lon Gannett from fighting you that poor Jack 
got into trouble ; and you ought to be more sorry than any one else." 

44 Huh ! I was n't afraid of Lon Gannett ! I can lick Lon Gannett with 
my little finger ! " And Phin went on to brag. 



136 Doing his Best. [March, 



CHAPTER IX. 

IN THE EVENING. 

In the mean while Jack trudged along the slippery sleigh-track with a 
heavy heart To be thus left behind was a grievous disappointment to him ; 
not that he cared so much for the ride, but he needed the friendly presence 
and support of Annie and her good brother. His passion, and the glow of 
triumph which Forrest's kind words inspired, had had time to cool ; and he 
began to consider the results of the day's bad business. 

" Of course," said he, " it 's the end of my going to school, — and this 
after all my hopes and plans ! when I meant to be doing my best I " He 
knew well that, even if he wished, he could never return to the scene of 
Master Dinks's tyranny except at the cost of some terrible punishment and 
humiliation. Still he could not bring himself altogether to regret what he 
had done. " That last kick was too much ! I never could stand that ! " 

On reaching home, he quietly washed and brushed himself then took the 
milk-pails from the pantry and went out to do the evening's chores. He 
watered the horses, he fed the swine, he foddered and milked the cows ; 
and by the time he came in to supper, carrying his two brimming pails of 
milk, his heart, though by no means free from trouble, was resolved and 
strong. 

The Chatford family were so busy and so happy in the reception and 
entertainment of their guests, that Jack's unfortunate adventure seemed to 
have been forgotten ; and it was not until the whole family were gathered 
in the evening around the sitting-room fire that Mr. Chatford said, " Well, 
Jack, what 's the news with you to-day ? " 

Jack started, his heart gave a sudden jump, and his color changed. 

" Not very good news," he replied, forcing a smile. 

" So I hear. How happens it you can't get along any better at school ? " 

" I don't believe it 's all my fault. I did my very best until the master 
began to punish me for things I was n't to blame for ; then I got discour- 
aged." 

Jack paused to catch breath, and gather strength from Annie's gentle 
eyes fixed upon him, and her brother Forrest's pleasant smile, and Mrs. 
Chatford's anxious, motherly look, and then went on : — 

" He seemed to have a spite against me from the first ; and I happened 
to be one of those he thought he could abuse as he pleased, and nobody 
would interfere. Children of parents well off, especially children of the 
trustees, hardly ever get punished ; but we poor fellows have to take it 1 " 

"It's very easy," said Mr. Chatford, gravely, "to accuse a teacher of 
partiality. But even if what you say is true, is that any excuse for your 
conduct ? I am one of the trustees of the school ; you are a member of my 
family ; and if I pass over this affair, it will look as if, I upheld you in your 
resistance to the master's authority. Are you prepared to go back in the 
morning and ask his pardon ? " 



1 873.] Doing his Best. 137 

*'No, sir!" answered Jack, with a swelling bosom. "I have made up 
my mind ; I never can do that 1 " 

*' You prefer to lose your schooling ? " 

"Yes, sir, if I must. It will be no use for me to go to Master Dtnks's 
school any more." 

Jack's voice faltered, and U was a great relief to him to hear Forrest Fel- 
ton, in his cheery tone, speak up : — 

" Do you think, Uncle Chatford, that a master who makes a practice of 
kicking his scholars is to be tolerated ? " 

" But does he make a practice of it ? " said the cautious deacon. 

" Ask Moses ! " cried Jack, vehemently. 

" Of course he does/ 9 said Moses. " Not a day passes but he gives the 
toe of his boot to one or two." 

Then Jack blazed up. " I had borne all I could ! I turned on him, — 
I caught his leg and threw him over 1 And I would do it again ! " 

"'Twas the neatest thing I ever saw," said Moses, laughing; "and I 
never was so tickled in my life. Dinks got just what be deserved ; that 's 
what every one thought" 

" Reminds me of a sarcumstance happened when I was a youngster and 
went to school to a man by the name o' Colt," said Mr. Pipkin, the hired 
man, from his corner. " He used to kick. One day he kicked one o' the 
Ryder boys, — Dan ; sassy feller ; spunky as a bull pup. Dan wheeled 
about an' looked him square in the face. * Kick when you 're a Colt, 1 says 
he, ' what '11 ye do when you 're an old hoss ? ' The master was so took 
back he never said a word, by hokey ! but jes' let him take his seat. We 
made a joke on 't, an' said the Colt had got his Ryder that time ! " 

" I think if I had been the Colt, that Ryder would have got thrown," said 
the deacon. " A master must maintain his authority." 

" Father never will hear anything against a teacher," remarked Moses. 

" Well, well ! I believe in discipline," replied Mr. Chatford. 

" That 's just it ; and you 're so afraid of saying a word that might en- 
courage rebellious notions in us boys, that I believe you 'd let a master cut 
the little shavers' ears off before you would even give us a hint of what you 
thought of it I wish you could just look into Dinks's school, some days ! 
Talk about discipline ! he has no more discipline than a butting calf." 

" Did Rant Hildreth get licked for throwing the spit-ball this afternoon ? " 
asked Phineas. " Took the master square in the forehead, and stuck ! " he 
explained to Mr. Pipkin, with a giggle. 

" No ; Rant told of others who had been throwing spit-balls, and they 
told of more, till by and by Dinks had a row of about eight fellows and 
three girls on the floor. He was going to ferule 'em all, till it came out 
that Nancy Beman had thrown spit-balls across to the boys half a dozen 
times to-day. Of course he could n't think of punishing her ; so he let 'em 
all take their seats. He did n't kick 'em ; he 's cured of kicking for one 
while, I guess ! " 

" It seems you gave the master one good lesson, for the many he had 



138 Doing his Best. [March, 

given you," Forrest Felton said to Jack. u The school ought to pass you a 
vote of thanks." 

" Don't talk in that way, Forrest," said the deacon. " Dinks ain't the 
worst teacher that ever was." 

" You should have seen Dinks give Step Hen Treadwell a lesson in addi- 
tion the other day," said Moses. " Step Hen is a stupid fellow at figures ; 
and for some blunder of his the master sent him to the blackboard and told 
him to add up six ciphers. He took the chalk, frightened half to death, and 
wrote down a column of six naughts, drew a line under 'em, and went to 
adding 'em up. ' Quicker 'n that ! ' says Dinks, hitting him a* crack with the 
ruler. 'How many does it make?' 'Six!' bellows Step Hen; and he 
hurries to write it down. ' No, it don't ! ' Crack with the ruler ! Step Hen 
howls out, ' Makes one ! ' rubs out the six and writes down one. 4 No, it 
don't ! ' Crack, crack, crack ! ' Add 'em up again ! ' Step Hen yelled, 
and rubbed his smarting legs, and concluded that six ciphers added together 
made five. Then he thought perhaps they made four. Of course he got a 
licking for every blunder. It was getting so bad I thought the big boys 
ought to interfere, when Dinks, to humiliate Step Hen, called up our little 
Kate, and told her to show him how to do the sum. Tell him about it, 
Kate." 

" I felt so bad for the poor boy ! " said Kate, all aglow with the recollec- 
tion of the scene. " I should have been frightened myself if I had n't had 
so much pity for him. So I said, * Six ciphers stand for six nothings, don't 
they ? Now he don't want you to tell how many ciphers there are, but how 
much they make, added up.' He kept whimpering he * did n't know.' So 
I said, * Suppose there are six of us boys and girls, and he asks how much 
money we have. I have nothing, you have nothing, and so with all of us.' 
' O, I know now ! ' says he. ' Six nothings make — nothing ! ' And he 
turned round to the board, and added up his six ciphers, and put a cipher 
under them, — and O, how glad I was ! " cried little Kate, clapping her 
hands again with joy at her success. 

" Why, Kate ! " said Annie Felton, delighted, " you are a regular little 
schoolma'am ! But " — her face saddened immediately — "I am so sorry 
for — Step Hen, as you call him ! Stephen Treadwell is one of the best 
little boys in the world. And not so stupid, either ; though I found it some- 
times took a good deal of explanation to make him understand things. Mr. 
Dinks must be a very poor teacher, as well as a cruel-hearted man." 

" Don't say it before the boys, if you do think so," interposed the deacon. 

" After what has happened to-day," she replied with spirit, " I think the 
truth may be spoken even before them. For my part, I should like to hear 
Jack's story. I trust him, and you trust him ; we all know Jack by this 
time." 

" Yes, I believe Jack is a truthful boy, and means well, whatever mis- 
takes he may have made," added the deacon, discreetly. " Come, boy ! let 's 
hear what you have to say for yoursel£" 

7. T. Trowbrid&. 



1 373] The Ugly Old Toad. 139 



THE UGLY OLD TOAD. 

I. 

WHEN Lottie Harford was a very little girl, — she is almost a woman 
now, and is telling me this story herself, that I may tell it to the 
Young Folks, — so, then, when Lottie was a very little girl, she lived in 
a pretty country place, about six miles from a large city, with her mother 
and her brother Walter ; for her papa had been dead a long time, so long 
that Lottie could not remember him at all. 

But Mrs. Harford loved her little Lottie very dearly, and Lottie loved 
her mamma very dearly too. And she was an amiable, tender-hearted, 
good lady, although she certainly did spoil Lottie a good deal, and allowed 
Walter to do pretty much as he liked with his little sister, and with every- 
body and everything else about the place, for that matter. 

Now, Walter was a clever young fellow of twenty-one, a little of a quiz, 
and fond of a quiet joke, but also very fond of his little sister, and not 
always wise in the manner of showing his fondness. 

Among other ways he had of entertaining little Lottie was that of telling 
her fairy stories. And this was all well enough ; but when she would look 
up jnto his face with her large blue eyes, and ask, " O Walter, but were 
there ever such fairies and magicians ? " Walter would smile, and answer, 
" I should n't wonder, Lottie." And if Lottie would exclaim, as she often 
did, " And perhaps, brother, there are some still left ! " her brother would 
smile again, and say, " Yes, perhaps there are ; who knows ? " 

Now this was n't right in Walter ; but he thought it was a good joke, 
and that no harm could ever come of it. 

One summer evening Mrs. Harford and Walter and Lottie were sitting 
on their piazza in front of the lawn. Mrs. Harford was reclining on an easy- 
chair, but Walter and Lottie were seated on the low step of the porch, with 
their feet on the gravel-walk. Walter had been telling Lottie a fairy tale, 
as usual, in which the fairy had taken several queer shapes, — among others, 
that of a great spotted toad,-— and Lottie was thinking deeply about it, no 
doubt, when suddenly out from under the porch hopped a large, hump- 
backed toad, with great black eyes, and a paunch as fat as that of Mr. 
Punch ; and, sitting up on his hind legs, he looked mildly at Lottie, and 
winked with both eyes several times. 

Lottie, who was n't a bit afraid, stooped down as if she were going to pat 
him on his knotted head ; but Walter said, " Don't touch it, Lottie ! " and 
Mrs. Harford cried, nervously, " O, what a horrici, ugly old toad ! Come 
up here, Lottie ! Walter, do drive the hideous thing away ! " 

"Don't, Walter! please don't hurt it!' exclaimed Lottie. "Why, 
mamma, it may be a fairy ! " 

" Nonsense, my dear ! I wish, Walter, you would n't put such notions 
into Lottie's head." So saying, Mrs. Harford went into the house and up 
to her chamber. 



140 The Ugly Old Toad. [March, 

"Brother," said Lottie, in a half-whisper, still watching the toad which 
had now hopped out into the gravel-walk some distance, "it might be a 
fairy; might n't it?" 

" O, certainly, it might I " answered Walter. 

" How I wish it was ! " exclaimed the little girl. " Would n't it be nice ? 
I 'd be very kind to it, and then, you know, it might grant my wish." 

" And what would you wish for, my dear ? " asked her brother, gravely. 

" O, I don't know ! " said Lottie. "Yes, I do \ I 'd ask it to give me a 
goat and a little wagon, like Edith Warne's. Do you think it could, Walter ? 
I mean if it was a fairy, you know." 

" I 've no doubt it could," said Walter. " Suppose you try, Lottie." 

Lottie looked at him to see if he was in earnest, but Walter kept a serious 
face, and repeated, " Try, Lottie ; it can't hurt you." 

So Lottie got up, and stepped softly out on the walk, until she came very 
near the old toad, who was just then eagerly watching a large black ant 
which he expected to have for supper in another minute. Then she stooped 
down and timidly stroked the old toad's head with her tiny forefinger once 
or twice. Toady did not budge, but only swelled himself out a little more, 
and shut his eyes as if he rather liked it 

So Lottie took courage, and, touching the toad's head once more very 
gently, she said, " O dear old toad, I love you very much, though you are 
so ugly ; and if you are really a fairy, I wish you would give me a white goat 
and a little wagon with green cushions, like Edith Warne's, and I will 
always be good to you, and thank you very much." 

The old toad made no answer whatever, but merely gave a quick little 
jump forward, whipped out his slender tongue, caught the ant on the end 
of it, and drew it into his mouth again so quickly that Lottie was n't certain 
whether she had seen him do it or not 

So she waited a moment, and then, getting no satisfaction from the toad, 
went back to Walter, and said, " Do yon think he can be a fairy ? Do you 
think he understood me ? Why did n't he answer ? He would if he had 
really been a fairy ; would n't he, brother ? " 

" Ah, I can't tell, my dear ! " replied Walter. ** Fairies are queer folks, 
you know. Perhaps he was too busy to answer. If I were you, I would 
go to bed now, and wait for to-morrow. Perhaps the old toad will think 
about it before then." So Lottie determined to go to bed, and kissed her 
brother good night, saying, as she went up stairs, " O, if it should only turn 
out to be a fairy, just think ! " 

I am afraid that Lottie was very restless for a good while after she had 
lain down in her little bed at the foot of her mother's large one. But her 
mamma always forbade her to talk upon going to bed, and so, though she 
tossed about a great deal, she was silent 

II. 
When Lottie arose next morning — and you may be sure the sun was 
not up very long before her — she thought of the toad the very first thing, 



1 873] The Ugly Old Toad. 141 

even before her prayers, I am afraid, and hurried through her toilet that 
she might run out and see if there was any sign of the goat and the wagon 
with the green cushions. She put on her gypsy hat and her little over- 
shoes, — for there had been a heavy dew, — and away she tripped. First she 
went out on the piazza, and peeped under it to see if her dear old toad was 
visible. But she only saw a big gray spider that made her jump back with 
a little scream. Then she went down to the stable where Walter kept his 
saddle-horse, and looked in. But there was only Prince, the horse, and 
Spry, the terrier dog, to be seen there. 

From there she went to the barn-yard, but nobody was there except Hugh 
the gardener, who was just going to let Hannah, the Alderney cow, out to 
pasture. She did n't like to ask Hugh if he had seen anything of a white 
goat and a wagon with green cushions, for fear he would laugh at her ; so 
she ran away again, and looked into the tool-house, and into the corn-rack, 
and even into S pry's kennel ; and finally she went to the gate, and took 
a long look up and down the road. But nowhere was there the least sign 
of the fairy goat and wagon. 

Lottie came back to the house quite disappointed, and even a little 
bit cross, so that she hardly spoke a word until after breakfast, when, as 
her brother was about to ride into town, she followed him to the stable, 
and said, " I think the toad was nothing but an ugly old toad, after all, 
brother, for he has n't brought me any goat and wagon at all." 

Walter, who had one foot in the stirrup, laughed, and replied, " Ah, Lot- 
tie, I think you must ask him three times. Three is always the magic 
number, you know. I 'd try him again, if I were you." 

« Would you ? But how shall I — " 

Walter, however, was cantering off, and she had to leave her question 
unasked. So she walked slowly back to the house, pondering by the way, 
till suddenly an idea seemed to strike her, and she ran swiftly up to the 
piazza. 

* When she reached the steps, she stooped down close to the spot where 
the old toad had come forth, and, placing her rosy mouth almost under the 
step, she repeated her request of the previous evening twice, and in nearly 
the same -words, adding, however, by way of a climax, " And if you don't 
do it now, I shall think you are nothing but an ugly old toad, and I sha' n't 
love you a bit t " 

That was a very long day to Lottie. Her mother was more unwell than 
usual, and could not be disturbed, and Walter did not return to dinner nor 
to tea. And, to make it worse, it began to rain just after dinner, and did 
not clear off till Lottie was ready to go to bed. So she saw nothing more 
of the toad that evening, and did not even have a chance of kissing her 
brother good night, as he did not get home until Lottie was fast asleep. 

But Walter came into the room and saw his mother, and had a pretty 
long talk with her before he persuaded her to let him have his own way 
in something. However, she finally agreed ; and then he kissed her, and 
went to bed himself. 



142 The Ugly Old Toad. [March, 

III. 

The sun and Lottie were up again pretty nearly together the next morn- 
ing ; but when she looked out of the window, behold ! it was raining as 
hard as ever it could, and she thought, " O dear ! O dear ! even if the goat 
and wagon have come, I can't see them. How I hate the rain ! " And Lottie 
did not look the least amiable through her tears. But before breakfast was 
over, the good-natured sun showed his broad, bright face through the clouds, 
and Lottie's eyes looked clear and smiling again, as she tripped up stairs 
for her hat and overshoes. 

As she came down into the hall, a strange vision flashed upon her ; 
she thought she saw something white pass rapidly by on the gravel-walk 
beyond the open hall door, and then a dark object seemed to stop right in 
front of the piazza. 

Lottie's heart gave a great leap, and her lips parted in a wild cry, as she 
almost flew along the hall and out upon the porch. 

Yes, she saw it ! There it was ! O ! O ! ! O ! ! ! There, right before 
the steps, at the very spot where she had asked the dear, good old toad for 
it, stood the loveliest white goat, all harnessed to the sweetest little wagon, 
just like — O no ! ever so much prettier than Edith Warne's ! 

O ! O ! ! O ! ! ! Was it true ? Could it be true ? Was the ugly old 
toad really a fairy ? Were this lovely, lovely, lovely goat and this beautiful 
wagon hers — her own ? O 1 O ! 1 O ! ! ! 

For some moments she could do nothing but dance and clap her hands, 
and scream with wonder and delight 

At length she turned to Hugh, who stood grinning by the goat's bridle, 
and, " O Hughey, where did you find it ? " she asked. 

"In the barn, Miss Lottie. It corned in the night. I guess the fairies 
brought it." 

And Hugh laughed a great haw ! haw ! and looked as if he knew more 
than he chose to tell about it. 

Brother Walter and mamma were soon brought out to see the gift of the 
old fairy toad, and then Hester the cook, and Annie the maid, and George 
the waiter lad ; and even Spry, the terrier, was called on to admire it, which 
he did by wagging his tail and barking violently. 

And then Lottie must get in and try it ; and round and round and round 
the gravel-walk she drove, feeling as if she were riding in a dream all the 
time ; and then she must drive Spry, since the larger folk could not get into 
the tiny affair ; and Spry jumped out as fast as he was put in, and barked 
louder than ever ; and, dear me ! I could n't begin to tell you what a time 
there was. But the end of it was, that Lottie firmly believed in the magical 
power of the ugly old toad, and neither Walter nor his mother thought it 
necessary to undeceive her. 

And so, for at least two weeks, there was n't a happier little girl within 
a hundred miles than Lottie Harford. 

But young folks are a good deal like older folks, after all, " only more so," 



1873.] The Ugly Old Toad. 143 

as the boys say ; and when Lottie had owned the goat for a fortnight, and 
had shown her equipage to her little friends, especially to Edith Warne, 
and had driven round the gravel-walks till she was tired of them, and had 
had her five dolls out driving over and over again, and been upset once 
by running over the garden-roller, she began to grow rather indifferent to 
the pleasure, and to neglect Chip (this was the name Walter had given the 
goat, on account of a strange fondness the little beast had for eating bits 
and shavings of wood out of the carpenter-shop) little by little. 

And then she suddenly remembered her friend the ugly old toad, to whom 
she had behaved quite shabbily, not even going to thank him for his gift. 
But I am sorry to say that she was not reminded of Toady by her gratitude, 
but rather by her curious desire to make use of him again. For Edith 
Warne had been to spend the day with her, and had brought a beautiful 
little curly-haired dog, as white as snow, who stood up on his hind legs, 
and walked about with a piece of cracker on his nose in the most comical 
way, until you said, "One, two, three, catch!" and then he gave his 
head a quick twist, and caught the cracker in his mouth. And Lottie was 
very jealous of Edith's having such a wonderful dog, and resolved to beg 
her friend the fairy toad to bring her one just like it. 

But first she thought she would consult Brother Walter about it. So, 
as her brother was smoking his cigar under the great catalpa-tree, Lottie 
came and sat down by him on a little camp-stool, and, " Brother," said she, 
" do you think the old fairy is still here ? " 

" What old fairy ? " asked Walter ; for he was thinking of something else, 
or somebody else, whom he thought quite a young and charming fairy. 

" Why, the ugly old toad, of course ! I *ve never even thanked him for 
my goat and wagon, and I 'm rather tired of that now, and I should like a 
little white dog, O, so much ! Do you think he *d give me one, if I were 
to beg him three times very, very nicely ? " 

Walter reflected a moment before he replied. Then, however, he said : 
u Well, I should n't wonder. You might try him again. But if I were you 
I would only ask him once each day, for it may be harder for him to find 
you such a dog than it was to get you the goat. You know the second wish 
is always harder to obtain than the first, in the fairy tales." 

" So it is," said Lottie ; " and the third the hardest of all. I wonder what 
I shall want for my third wish. Well, I '11 ask for the dog, at any rate." 

Walter merely smiled, and said, " Go ahead, Lottie ! I wish you luck." 

Lottie got up and went to the porch, and looked under it, and first she 
thought she would wait till she saw the old toad come out in the evening ; 
but then she thought she could n't, and that it might rain, or he might not 
come out, so she knelt down and made her request as before. And, sure 
enough, she saw nothing of the old toad that evening, nor the next day, nor 
the next, though she repeated her petition the three times that made the 
charm complete, and went to bed the third night in a fever of expectation. 

Nor did the fairy disappoint her this time ; for when she awoke next morn- 
ing she heard scratching at the door, and, jumping out of bed, she ran in 



144 



The Ugly Old Toad. 



[March, 




Lottie and the Toad (see p. 140). 

her little bare feet across the matting, and opened the door, and behold ! 
there was a lovely little white dog, with curly hair, tied by a pink silk ribbon 
to the door-handle. 

Of course there was the same great joy and delight over this new wonder 
as there had been over the goat and wagon ; and poor Chip's nose was put 
completely out of joint by the graces and tricks of Fairy, as the little dog 
was christened by Lottie herself. 

And this charm lasted a full month, during which Lottie again forgot all 
about the ugly old toad ; or, at all events, she never thought to thank him 
for his renewed goodness, nor did the old fellow happen to make his appear- 
ance to claim her gratitude. 

IV. 

One bright, cool day in September, however, as Lottie and Fairy were 
taking a walk on the wayside in front of the house, she beheld a little girl 
on a lovely little black pony with a long, sweeping tail, riding gayly down 
a hill in the distance, accompanied by a man on a great brown horse. Lot- 
tie looked, and rubbed her eyes, and looked again, as the two riders came 
near and nearer, until they cantered right up to where she was standing, 
and then she was sure it was Edith Warne and her father's coachman, Wil- 
liam. She knew the horse that William rode. It was one of Mr. Warne's 
carriage horses. 

But she had never seen the pony before, and when Edith told her that 



I873-] The Ugly Old Toad. 145 

her papa had given it to her that very morning, Lottie was so confused 
between admiration and envy that she could hardly congratulate her little 
friend. 

In a few moments, however, she recovered her gayety, and, speaking the 
thought in her mind, she said, " Well, Edie, I '11 have a pony too, very 
soon!" 

m Will you ? Who '11 give it you ? How soon ? Will it be a black one 
with a long tail like Daisy ? " asked Edith, somewhat doubtingly. 

"The fairy toad will give it to me," replied Lottie, confidently; "and it 
will be any color I please, and have a tail twice as long as yours has, too, 
if I like ! But it may be very hard to get, and perhaps it will take a whole 
week." 

"O Lottie!" cried Edith, "you don't believe that poor old toad really 
gave you your goat and your dog, do you ? " 

" Yes, I do ! 1 know he did ! Walter says so, and I 'm sure he knows 
a great deal more than you or anybody else about it," said Lottie, stoutly. 
" And he 'U give me a pony, too ; you '11 see if he won't ! " 

Edith laughed (she was two whole years older than Lottie, and had no 
faith in fairy stories), and said, " O you silly little thing ! I know all about 
it, but I promised not to tell. And I don't believe you '11 get your pony, 
either ; there now ! " 

Lottie's brow flushed, and her eyes filled with tears. " I don't care what 
you believe!" she exclaimed; "and I think you're a naughty girl, and I 
wish you 'd go away. I don't love you a bit, and I sha' n't ask you to come 
in ! " And she turned away indignantly, and left her young friend in the road. 
Then Edith looked sorry for a moment, and was about to ride in at all 
events ; but William said something to her, and laughed, and then she 
nodded and laughed too, and so they rode on. 

Lottie went straight to her brother, and told him about Edith's pony, and 
what she had said, and asked him if it was n't true that the toad had given 
her the goat and the dog, and if he — Walter — did n't think he — the toad 
— would grant her third wish, and give her the pony too. 

But Walter was very much puzzled, and did not know exactly what to 
reply. He did not like to own that he had deceived his little sister, and at 
the same time he did not think it proper that she should have the pony. 
So after a little while, he said, " I 'm afraid, Lottie, you ask too much of 
your fairy friend. You are too small yet to have ar pony, and you should 
be content with the pretty goat and wagon to ride in. Fairies don't like 
little girls to be unreasonable or envious, and they sometimes punish them 
when they ask for things they ought not to have, you know. If I were you 
I would wait till next year, and then, if you have been a very good girl all 
the time, you can ask the old toad for the pony, and if he is able to find such 
a one as you want, I have no doubt he will give you one." 

But Lottie put up her lip and pouted, and really looked uglier than the 
toad for a few moments, as she said, in a whining voice, " I 'm not too lit- 
tle, brother ! I 'm 'most as big as Edith, and she has a pony, and I want 

vol. ix. — no. in. 10 



146 The Ugly Old Toad. [March, 

one too, now, and I won't wait till next year, and I think it will be real mean 
in the fairy if — and Edith said he was n't a fairy at all, and that she knew 
all about the goat and the dog — O, I will have the pony!" Here she 
began to sob, and even stamped her little foot with anger and impatience, 
while Walter looked at her with a mixture of reproof and perplexity. 

How it would have turned out I 'm sure I can't imagine ; but just then 
Hugh, who was mowing the grass around the house, suddenly uttered a 
loud " Hello I what 's that ? " And, stooping, he picked up something from 
the swarth he had just cut down, and held it up. " Why, it 's a poor old 
toad, I declare ! " exclaimed he, pityingly. 

Walter and Lottie both started, and ran quickly up to the gardener. When 
they got there, they saw a great wrinkled toad lying on the grass in the 
agony of death. Hugh's keen scythe had cut the poor thing quite in two, 
and it was a sad and sorry sight to see its large black eyes opening and 
shutting spasmodically, as it slowly breathed its last 

" O Walter ! " cried Lottie, now weeping more violently than ever, but 
with very different feelings, — " O Walter ! Walter ! it is my poor, dear old 
fairy toad ! I know it by the great spot on its head ! O, what shall I do 
for it ? " And she sat down on the grass, and was about to take the muti- 
lated thing into her lap. But her brother prevented her, saying, "It is 
no use, Lottie, the poor toad is dead. Let it be, and come with me. I Ve 
something to tell you." 

And taking her by the hand, he led her to the house, and, going into the 
study, took her on his knee, and told her — 

But I really cannot remember all he told her. It must have been rather 
difficult to tell in the beginning, for Walter stammered and " hemmed " a 
good deal at first, and grew quite red in the face. But after a while he went 
on more smoothly, and before he had quite done Lottie's tears were all 
dry, and she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, and said, 
earnestly, " O yes indeed ! I do love you very, very much ! And I don't 
care a bit about the foolish old toad, for I 'd ever so much rather have you 
and mamma give me things than ask a fairy for them. And I 'm glad there 
are no fairies, after all, brother ; for I think getting things so easy makes me 
greedy, and jealous of everything that other little girls have, — don't you ?" 

To which Walter answered, in rather an unsteady voice, that it was very 
natural she should wish to have what her little friends had, but — 

" But I 'm not old enough to have a pony, am I, brother ? " interrupted 
Lottie. " For Edith is really two years older than I am, though I am 'most 
as tall as she is ; and next year you think I will be big enough to ride, don't 
you ? and then, if I have been a real good girl, I may have a pony, may n't 
I ? with a long tail, longer than Daisy's, if you can find one ; and I shall 
know it came from you, dear brother, like the goat and the wagon and the 
dog, — I sha' n't call him Fairy any more, though, — and not from the ugly 
old toad." 

Walter thought, on the whole, that he had got out of the scrape very 
nicely, and I think so too ; don't you, my dear Young Folks ? 



1873] Grade's Kitty. 147 

They did not, however, stop reading and telling fairy stories, for all that ; 
only Lottie began to understand them better than she ever had done before, 
and though she no longer believed in fairies, or enchanters, or eve/i giants, 
yet she was somehow conscious that she had learned a useful lesson from 
the incidents connected with the ugly old toad. 

C. D. GardetU. 






GRACIE'S KITTY. 

GRACIE'S kitty, day by day, 
Moped beside the fire, and pined; 
Would no longer frisk or play, 
Or the worsted ball unwind. 
Grade coaxed, " Play, kitty, do ! " 
Kitty answered sadly, "Mew!" 

All in vain were dainty fare, 

Bread and milk all warm and new, 
Downy nest and tender care, -»- 

Thinner, weaker still she grew, 
Could no longer run or purr, 
Lay in bed, and would not stir. 

Grade trailed her long white gown 

Down the stairs at early light, 
Wondering " if kitty 'th grown 

Any better over night " ; 
Found poor kitty cold and dead 
In her pretty basket-bed. 

Grade made another bed 

Where the morning-glories climb ; 
With red rose-leaves lined and spread, 
' And perfumed with pinks and thyme. 
Rarely has a human head 
Found so soft and sweet a bed. 

Grade's little tender hands 

End at last their loving task ; 
Sobbing by the grave she stands, 

Then she lifts her face to ask, 
While the slow tears downward roll, 
"Mamma, where ith kitty'th thoul?" 

Elisabeth Akers Allen. 



148 Young Abe. [March, 



YOUNG ABE. 

IN thi winter of 1 818 the good people of Elizabethtown, Kentucky, were 
one day surprised by the reappearance of a man who had left that part 
of the country some time before ; and the rumor flew rapidly from mouth 
to mouth, " Tom Linkhorn has come back ! " 

He was a man of medium height, tremendously thick-set, muscular, round- 
faced, and jolly. He was known in that part of the country as a shiftless 
fellow, fond of a joke or story, and formidable in a fight, but too lazy to get 
a decent living and provide for his family. He likewise enjoyed an unenvia- 
ble notoriety as " the man that bit off Abe Enlow's nose." Enlow was a 
bully of the district, who, happening to rouse the wrath of the lazy and 
good-natured Tom, had found his match in him, and lost at once his repu- 
tation as a fighter and the important feature above mentioned. 

The bad fame of this exploit, together with his "bad luck" generally 
(lazy folks are always having " bad luck "), had induced " Tom Linkhorn " 
to emigrate to Indiana two years before. He had taken his household goods 
down Salt River on a flatboat (which, with his usual ill luck, he upset on 
the Ohio, spilling everything into the water), and had afterwards come back 
for his wife and two children, packed them upon two horses, together with 
what was left of his worldly possessions, and disappeared in the wilderness, 
out of which he now reappeared alone. 

His old neighbors, seeing him pass, were inclined to stop him, hear his 
stories, and " swap jokes " with him. But Tom had come back on " busi- 
ness." He walked straight to the little log-cabin of the Widow Johnston, 
whom he had courted before his marriage, but who had rejected him to 
make a better match. Her husband had since died, and she was the mother 
of three fatherless children. No doubt she was glad to see an old friend, 
though I should think the " business " he had come on must have surprised 
her a little. His wife had lately died, and he had two children who were 
motherless. 

" You see, Mis' Johnston," he said, " I have no wife, you have no hus- 
band. I 've come a purpose to marry you. I 've knowed you from a gal ; 
you 've knowed me from a boy. I 've no time to lose ; and, if you 're willin', 
let it be straight off." 

" Tommy, I know you well," was the reply, " and I have no objection " ; 
— Tommy having given color to his proposal by a glowing account of his 
present worldly prospects. 

The marriage took place the next morning, and the late Mrs. Johnston 
and her three children set out at once with her new husband for his home 
in Indiana. Great must have been her disappointment and chagrin on see- 
ing what sort of a home that really was. It was in the depth of winter ; and 
the house — a log-cabin of the roughest description — was surrounded by 
woods. Its floor was the bare ground. It had neither window nor door, — 
an opening in one side, which was never closed, answering in place of both. 



1873] Young Abe. 149 

Rude three-legged stools were the only apology for chairs. Poles stuck 
in the cracks of the logs in one corner of the cabin, and supported at the 
other end on crotch ed sticks sunk in the earthen floor, served as a bedstead. 
A quantity of leaves, old clothing, and skins, spread on boards, which rested 
on the poles, answered for a bed. The table was a broad slab, in the four 
corners of which holes had been bored for the hewed legs. 

This one room served as bedroom, kitchen, and parlor. There was a 
loft above, for the children, who climbed up to it on a row of pegs driven 
into the logs, — like the rounds of a ladder with only one side-support. The 
scanty furniture of the hut was in keeping with everything else about it. 
It was the home of shHtlessness and poverty, where the new-comers had 
looked to see at least decency and comfort. 

Many women, in the place of the second Mrs. Linkhorn, would have 
turned about and gone back with their children to the comfortable Kentucky 
cabin, leaving lazy Tom and his children to their miserable lot. But pity 
for the two little ones, Abe and Nancy Linkhorn, if not a sense of duty to 
their father, inspired the heart of the late Mrs. Johnston with a noble reso- 
lution. She determined to stay, and make the best of a, bad bargain. The 
furniture she had brought with her, though that of a poor Kentucky widow, 
seemed truly luxurious in Tom's floorless and windowless abode ; and she 
immediately set to work improving the condition of the family. 

She made Tom — who was a sort of carpenter, if you will believe it — 
put down a floor, hang a door, and fit a window. At the same time she 
clothed little Abe and Nancy in some of the garments of her own children, 
and made them comfortable at night in warm beds, such as they had never 
known till then. Before, they were dirty, ragged, shivering, and neglected ; 
now, a door kept out the winter winds, while a bright fire blazed in the cabin, 
and, better still, they had a warm home in the new mother's great and loving 
heart In short, she roadd human beings of them, who had seemed little 
better than savages before. 

Of the two Linkhorn children, Abe was the younger. He was then nine 
years old, — having been born on Nolin Creek, near Elizabeth town, in Ken- 
tacky, in the year 1809. His mother's maiden name was Nancy Hanks ; 
she was tall, dark, and slender, and probably an excellent woman in her 
way, though unequal to the task of making much of a man of Tom Link- 
horn. Dying there on the rude bedstead of poles, in the Indiana wilder- 
ness, she had left her orphans to be cared for by this stronger and nobler, 
if not better woman, who in that humble sphere was to have the making 
of a great man in American history. 

Tom Linkhorn — or Linkhern, as the name was called in Indiana — could 
neither read nor write, until his first wife, Abe's mother, taught him to sign 
his name. He had always made " his X mark " before. It does not appear 
that his literary accomplishments went any farther than this ; and, having 
himself lived in ignorance all his life, he saw no necessity for educating his 
children. Their new mother thought differently ; and in the new order of 
things Abe and Nancy were, before long, sent to school She took a great 



ISO 



Young Abe. 



[March, 



liking to Abe, who returned her affection with all the ardor of a heart hungry 
for love. In after years, whenever he spoke of his " saintly mother," and 
his u angel of a mother," — as he often did, — he always meant, not her who 
gave him birth, but this woman, to whom he owed all that made life of any 
value. She herself, later in life, could not speak of him without tears. 

Her own son, she said, was a good boy, but Abe was kinder, better, truer. 
" Abe," she averred, " never gave me a cross word or look, and never re- 
fused to do anything I asked him. I never gave him a cross word in my 
life. His mind and mine — what little I had — seemed to run together. He 
was dutiful to me always, and I think he loved me truly." 

This relation between mother and son, in that lonely log-cabin, was very 
beautiful. Our readers will, no doubt, be glad to see the portrait of this 
excellent woman, and we give it here. 




Little Abe's Second Mother. 

The -school to which the children went was in a little log school-house a 
mile and a half away. It had no windows, — only holes cut through the 
logs, in which " greased paper took the place of glass." The roof was just 
high enough for a man to stand under it without hitting his head. Here 
Abe learned to read, write, and cipher. Young as he was, however, he had 
to help his father so much of the time that only a few weeks in the year 



1 873] Young Abe. 151 

were left for school ; and his biographer tells us that " all his school-days 
added together would not make a single year." 

In personal appearance Abe was ludicrously tall and lank, and sallow- 
skinned. His body was thin and wiry, his legs and arms were prodigiously 
long, feet and hands large, and all his movements awkward and ungainly. 
He wore a 'coon-skin cap and buckskin trousers. As buckskin, when it has 
been wet, will shrink, and as Abe was out in all sorts of weather, his buck- 
skins clung tight to his long legs; moreover, as he was all the while 
growing taller, while they were growing shorter, several inches of bare shin, 
thin and blue, was exposed between the ends of his trousers and the tops 
of his shoes. 

At fifteen he went to school to a man who taught " manners " ; and it 
must have been a funny sight to see tall and gawky Abe brought in by a 
companion, taken around the school-room, and formally "introduced" to 
the grinning boys and girls. 

At seventeen he had reached the amazing height of six feet and four 
inches. He had long since left school and begun to get his living in the 
world by hard work. When not employed at home, he was hired out to the 
neighbors, who paid over to the father the boy's scanty wages. 

But Abe had had a taste of knowledge which would not let him rest in 
ignorance. His father had not taught him to like hard work ; but he did 
love a book, and, wherever he was, at every chance he could get he was 
reading or studying. In the winter evenings he sat in the chimney-corner, 
and ciphered on the wooden fire-shovel, by the light of the blazing logs. 
When the shovel was covered with figures, he would shave them off with 
his father's " drawing-knife," and begin again. 

" He read every book he could lay hands on," says his step-mother ; " and, 
when he came across a passage that struck him, he would write it down on 
boards, if he had no paper, and keep it there until he did get paper. Then 
he would look at it, rewrite it, and repeat it. He had a copy-book in which 
he put down all things, and thus preserved them." 

He borrowed books of everybody who had them to lend. Once he bor- 
rowed Weems's " Life of Washington " of a neighbor named Crawford, and 
kept it on a shelf made of a clapboard laid on two wooden pins. " But just 
behind the shelf there was a great crack between the logs of the wall ; and 
one night, while Abe was dreaming in the loft, a storm came up, and the 
rain, blowing through the opening, soaked his precious book from cover 
to cover." Crawford compelled the poor boy to pay for the damaged vol- 
ume, which he did by " pulling fodder " for him at twenty-five cents a day, 
— a meanness for which Abe took an amusing revenge by composing bal- 
lads and jokes about a dreadfully misshapen nose which Crawford had the 
misfortune to carry, and which he could not show afterwards at any public 
gathering without exciting laughter. 

Abe was distinguished for his good-nature, his love of jokes and stories, 
and his benevolent heart. He was always ready to help others. Here is a 
little anecdote of his school-days which brings him vividly before us. One 



152 Young Abe. [March, 

day the schoolmaster had put out the word defied to a large class of boys 
and girls, all of whom had missed it " D-e-f-i-d-e," " d-e-f-y-d-e," "d-e- 
f-y-d," — it was spelled in all sorts of ways except the right one, until the 
master, in a terrible rage, told the class they should stay in their places day 
and night until defied \ta& spelled correctly. The rest of the school were 
dismissed. One little girl had got it " d-e-f-y-e-d," when, chancing to glance 
at Abe at the window, waiting to help his mates out of their trouble, she 
saw him put his finger to his eye. With that hint she spelled the word, and 
the class was let out. 

Abe delighted in composition, and while at school he began, to write 
essays against cruelty to animals. He was pained by the conduct of the 
boys, who were in the habit of catching terrapins and putting coals of fire on 
their backs. " He would chide us," says one, u tell us it was wrong, and 
write against it." , 

He early showed his talent for public speaking. When he was fifteen, he 
began to preach little sermons to the children, taking a text, and reading a 
hymn. One day his step-brother, John Johnston, threw a terrapin against 
a tree, and crushed its shell. Abe saw its sufferings, and preached upon 
the spot a sermon against cruelty, " contending that the life of an ant is as 
sweet to it as ours is to us." 

Old " Tom*Linkhern " did not believe in Abe's spending his time in this 
way, and treated him so badly that the boy preferred " hiring out " to the 
neighbors to working with his father at home. All considered it a great 
treat to have "Abe Linkhern" come and work for them, he was so good- 
humored, so obliging, and so full of entertaining stories. He was pro- 
digiously strong also, could throw the best man at wrestling, and do a 
bigger day's work, when be set out, than anybody. 

Some of his feats of strength, vouched for by his old neighbors, are almost 
incredible. He could carry a load sufficient for three ordinary men. One 
day he was seen to pick up a chicken-house, which must have weighed not 
less than six hundred pounds, and quietly walk away with it. At another 
time, seeing some men, who were building a corn-crib, preparing levers 
upon which to raise and carry some huge posts, he shouldered the posts 
one after another, without help, and bore them to the place where they 
were wanted. 

Game was plenty in that region, — deer, squirrels, wild fowl, — but Abe 
seems to have loved a book better than a gun. 

The people of the neighborhood were generally rude and uncultivated, 
many of them belonging, like the " Linkherns," to the class of poor whites 
of the South. A dish of pared potatoes passed around among company, 
to be eaten raw, like apples, was considered a treat. The belief in witches 
was common. " If a dog ran across a man's path while he was hunting, 
it was regarded as a sign of terrible luck, unless he instantly hooked his 
two little fingers together, and pulled with all his might until the dog was 
out of sight If a horse breathed oh a child, it would have the whooping- 
cough. Everything must be done at certain times and seasons, else it 



Young Abe. 




Abe, the Flat boat- man. 

would be attended with bad luck. Trees must be cut for rails in the early- 
part of the day, and the fence must be made in the * light of the moon,' or 
it would sink. Potatoes must be planted in the 'dark of the moon/ but 
trees and plants which bear their fruit aboveground must be put out in 
the ' light of the moon.' Soap must be made in the ' light of the moon,' and 
stirred only one way, and by one person." 

Such were the people among whom Abe was brought up ; and the wonder 
is, not that he showed some of their coarse and peculiar traits, in after years, 
but that, emerging from such surroundings, he should ever have arrived at 
distinction. 



154 Young Abe. [March, 

In his seventeenth year he worked nine months for a man, at the mouth 
of Anderson's Creek, for six dollars a month. He managed a ferry-boat 
which plied across the creek and the Ohio River ; did farm-work and chores 
about the house ; ground corn in a hand-mill ; built the kitchen fires in the 
morning before the folks were up ; turned his hand, in short, to anything 
required of him, and usually read and studied till midnight. Owing to his 
tremendous strength, he was an invaluable hand at hog-killing and rail- 
splitting. 

Beautiful as was the relation between Abe and his step-mother, he and 
old Tom never got along well together ; and when Abe was nineteen years 
old he resolved to strike out for himself, and see the world. He accordingly 
got a situation as a hand on a flatboat, going to New Orleans. He was a 
"bow-hand," and his business was to work the "front oars." This was 
the beginning of a new life to him, but it came near having a tragical end 

One night when /the boat was laid up against the shore, a little below 
Baton Rouge, he and his companion, who were fast asleep in the little cabin 
built on the stern, were startled by the sound of footsteps on board. " They 
knew instantly that a gang of negroes had come to rob, perhaps to murder 
them." His companion, thinking to frighten them away, shouted, " Bring 
the gun, Abe ! Shoot 'em ! " Abe brought no gun, but, rushing out, fell 
upon the negroes with a bludgeon, fought them furiously, drove them off, 
and then, casting loose the flatboat, escaped down the river. In this com- 
bat Abe received a scar which he carried all his life. 

But Abe was not yet of age, — his father still had a claim upon him, — 
and he did not leave home "for good," and begin life for himself, until two 
years later. This was in 1830, and he was then twenty-one. The family 
had in the mean while moved to Illinois, and settled on the north fork of 
the Sangammon, ten miles west of Decatur. 

Abe, then, having broken up fifteen acres of land for his father, and split 
rails enough to fence it, took an affectionate leave of his good step-mother, 
whom he never saw again except at intervals, but whom he never forgot. 
His father died not long after, — his sister had died before, — and his mother 
was left poor. Abe sent her money as soon as he had any to send, and 
continued to do so all his life. He wrote to her, and visited her whenever 
he could; his last visit being paid to her after he had become the most 
famous man, at that time, in the world. 

Abe worked about at " odd jobs " until he received what was considered 
by him a splendid offer of fifty cents a day, and twenty dollars at the end 
of the trip, for going once more with a flatboat to New Orleans. He was 
to start from a point near Springfield ; but on arriving there with two com- 
panions, who were to make the voyage with him, they found that the flat- 
boat was not yet built ! Abe thought they could build one ; and, procuring 
an axe, walked into the woods, and began to slash away at the big trees. 
The timber was quickly got ready, and rafted down to Sangammontown, 
where it was sawed, and the boat finally built 

While they were at Sangammontown, a juggler gave an exhibition in the 



1 873.] Young Abe. 155 

village. He called for a hat in which to perform his feat of cooking eggs. 
No hat was forthcoming. At last a long, lank, gawky fellow in the audience 
banded up a broad-brimmed, shabby felt hat, with the humorous remark, • 
" Mister, the reason J did n't give it you before was out of respect for your 
eggs, not care for my hat" 

The dry way in which this was spoken " brought down the house." The 
speaker was Abe. 

As soon as the flatboat was finished, it was brought down to the landing, 
loaded with corn, hogs, pork in barrels, etc., and started on its trading 
expedition down the river. It must have been a happy time for Abe. He 
was his own man now ; the world was before him ; he was " full of joke 
and jest," and he had jolly companions. 

They had not gone far, however, when they came very near losing both 
boat and cargo. She stuck on a dam in the river, the forepart projecting 
over it several yards, the hind-part settling down and filling, and the lading 
all sliding back. Nothing but Abe's presence of mind and ingenuity saved 
them from utter wreck. He rigged up a machine for tilting the boat for- 
wards, — having first bored a hole in the bottom which projected beyond 
the dam, for letting the water run out, — and afterwards lifted her over. 

This, and other experiences as a fiatboat-man, led to the invention of an 
" improved method of lifting vessels over shoals." It was patented, and a 
rode model — evidently whittled out with the young flatboat-man's jack- 
knife — may still be seen at the Patent Office in Washington. The name 
of the inventor, written upon the bow in a bold hand, is " Abraham Lincoln " ; 
— for Abe, as we should have said before, had long since reformed the 
corrupt spelling of the family name, " Linkhorn " and " Unkhern " really 
standing for that which he was afterwards to make illustrious. 

We have now, following his biographer,* sketched the boyhood and youth 
of this remarkable man, — which was all we set out to do, — and here we 
must leave him. How he continued to improve his mind at every oppor- 
tunity ; kept a grocery at New Salem ; surveyed land ; wrote deeds and 
contracts for his neighbors ; read law, sitting astride a wood-pile, or lying 
on his back on the grass " with his long legs up a tree," to the astonishment 
of his acquaintances ; went into politics, and, becoming the most popular 
man in Illinois, as well as the readiest speech-maker, was sent to Congress, 
and afterwards elected President of the United States ; how he guided the 
Vessel of State over perilous obstacles, of which the young flatboat-man 
never dreamed ; and how, at the close of our great civil war, he became a 
martyr, — all this we pass over; nor do we think it necessary for us to 
point out the moral which every intelligent boy will draw from this sketch 
of the great man's early years. 

Augustus Holmes. 

• T1m life of Abraham Lincoln, from bit Birth to his Inauguration ts President. By Ward H. 
Lunoo. With illustrations. J. R. Osgood & Co. One of the most remarkable biographies ever 
written, by which the obscurely born son of " Tom Linkhorn " is rendered the beat-known public 
character of modern times. We are indebted to it throughout for the facts here related of the life 
of Young Abe. 



156 A Talk about Electricity. [March, 



A TALK ABOUT ELECTRICITY. 

NEAR the close of a sultry day in June, large masses of cloud loomed 
up above the western hills, while rumblings of distant thunder, louder 
and still more loud, announced the rapid approach of a "thunder-storm." 
The Leslie family had just seated themselves around the tea-table, when the 
rain began to fall in torrents ; and suddenly a blinding flash seemed to fill 
the room with fire, instantly followed by a crashing peal. 

Willie, the youngest, began to cry ; but his father promptly assured him 
that nobody was hurt, and since he had lived to hear the thunder, there 
was nothing he need fear. " If we had been struck by the lightning," he 
said, u we should not have heard the thunder, nor known what hurt us." 

But the child, glancing timidly out at the window, in the direction from 
which the sound had seemed to come, anxiously asked, u Is n't it out there 
now by the gate ? " 

The little fellow had conceived the childish idea that the thunder was 
some terrible creature that had come down from the woods on the hill. 
The storm passed on to the eastward ; the lightning became less vivid and 
the thunder more distant, till at length the rain ceased, and the setting sun, 
smiling upon the retreating clouds, pencilled upon their gloomy brows the 
ever-welcome " Bow of Promise." 

" Now, father," said Charley, " you promised a long time ago to tell us 
something about electricity, which you say causes lightning and thunder, 
and does many other curious things. Is n't this a good time to do it ?" 

Mr. Leslie readily assented, but suggested that Charley should first go 
out and learn, if possible, where the lightning had u struck," and whether 
any damage had been done by it The boy went, and soon returned with 
the report that a large tree at no great distance off had been shivered to 
fragments ; that the lightning had passed from that to another tree ; that 
a hunter had been thrown down by the shock ; while a neighbor's house 
near by had narrowly escaped, the window-screens and bell-wires having 
been melted. 

When all were gathered in the parlor, Lizzie asked, with great simplicity, 
" Father, what do people mean by a thunderbolt ? When anything is struck 
by lightning, does an iron bolt come down from the sky?" 

" No, my dear," said Mr. Leslie, smiling; "nothing of the kind, though 
it is not strange that many people have thought there was. When a shaft 
or ball of electric light is seen coming from the clouds, it is easy to imagine 
it a bolt of red-hot metal. The ancients, who knew little of electricity, 
naturally enough supposed that the gods, who were .thought to live some- 
where up in the sky, were throwing fiery missiles at each other, or at men 
who had offended them. Hence we read of the ' thunderbolts of Jove,' or 
Jupiter, and of the ' hammer of Thor,' by which was meant nothing more 
than what we call lightning." 



1873.] A Talk about Electricity. 157 

" What can it be, then, that strikes trees and houses, and sometimes kills 
people ? " urged Lizzie. 

" Yes, that is just what I want to know,'* added Charley. 

"And that is what I am going to try to tell you," replied Mr. Leslie ; " but 
you will need to give very close attention in order to understand anything 
about it Did either of you ever hear slight snapping sounds when you 
combed your hair on a cold, dry morning ? " 

"/have," said Charley ; "and once, when it was dark, I saw little sparks 
of fire in Willie's hair when it snapped." 

" I have seen them on my pussy, too, and I was afraid her fur was going 
to catch fire," said Willie, eagerly. 

" These snappings and sparks," resumed Mr. Leslie, " were real thunder 
and lightning, on a very small scale. But you did not find any red-hot iron 
about them. The same may be produced in many ways. Here is one." 
Mr. Leslie took the glass chimney from a common kerosene lamp, and 
rubbed it briskly with the silk lining of his coat " Now," he said, " this 
may not give a spark that can be seen in a light room, but you shall see 
what it will do." He held it over some small bits of paper lying on the 
table, when the children were surprised to see several of the bits leap up 
and cling to the glass for a few moments, and then fall back. He continued : 
" If I were to take a large plate of thick glass, so fixed that it would not 
touch any good conductor, — I will tell you what a conductor is, presently, — 
then, if I should rub it briskly enough, it would give off a spark that would 
make you jump, should you put your finger near it This would be precisely 
the same thing, in a small way, as being struck by lightning. One kind of 
electrical machine is made by suspending a large round plate of glass on 
an axle through its centre, like a grindstone, with a crank by which to turn 
it, and a rubber to press against each side. A few turns of this machine 
will produce * lightning ' enough to throw you prostrate on the floor, should 
you touch the glass or any metal connected with it 

" But here is another way of getting nearly the same thing." Mr. Leslie 
took from his desk a stick of sealing-wax, and rubbed it quickly on his coat- 
sleeve ; then, holding it over the scraps of paper, they manifested the same 
affection for it that they did before for the glass. " The same result may be 
produced with a cake of resin, and several other substances." 

" Now," he continued, " this mysterious something which shows its pres- 
ence in these curious ways is called electricity. But there is a singular 
difference between that produced by means of glass and that produced with 
sealing-wax or resin. The first is called positive and the other negative 
electricity. If two articles become charged with the same kind, they repel 
or push each other apart; but if one becomes positively and the other 
negatively charged, they attract, or draw each other together." 

"Can you tell us, father, what this word electricity comes from?" asked 
Ada, who had lately begun the study of language. " Is it in any way related 
to our words elect and election t " 

" I suspect it is a near relation. It is derived immediately from the Greek 



158 A Talk about Electricity. [March, 

word electron, which Is the name for amber, a kind of fossil gum in which 
this peculiar attraction was first noticed ; but it is probable the name of this 
gum was made up from two words, elco, to attract, and tkriz y a hair, or 
tkrioti) a leaf, because amber seemed to draw or elect such light arti- 
cles." 

" But," interposed Charley, " I don't yet get any idea of what it is that 
goes from one hair to another on my head, or from the glass to the hand, 
or from the clouds to the earth. Is it a fiery fluid, or what is it ?" 

" That is just the point of difficulty," replied his father. " The great Dr. 
Franklin, who was the first in this country to draw lightning from the 
clouds, by means of a kite, and found it to Ire the same thing as the elec- 
tricity from a machine, thought there were two distinct fluids, consisting 
of some peculiar kind of material which had no weight, and which he dis- 
tinguished as positive and negative electricities. Others have thought there 
was but one fluid, which had two different conditions. 

" But scientific men have been carefully studying the matter ever since 
Franklin's day, and they now tell us that they are not able to detect any 
kind of material substance passing in the electric current, — except, indeed, 
such particles as may be torn away from the points of discharge, or gathered 
up in the air. Nor does it manifest any heat, unless it meets with resist-^ 
ance. But they find that a peculiar agitation, sometimes very violent, takes 
place in the particles of any substance lying in the path of this current ; and 
that if there is a resistance to this motion, — that is, if the substance is not 
a good conductor \ as they call it, or if, being a good conductor, it is not large 
enough for the current, — then heat is produced, and often light 

" So scientific men are coming to think that electricity, instead of being 
a fluid, or two fluids, is merely a peculiar state of matter^ or mode of motion 
in the particles of matter, caused by a force that is not matter. But just 
what this force is, or why it acts as it does, no one seems to understand. 
So, probably, the most we can do at present is to learn what we can of the 
curious ways in which it acts, — how it can be kept from harming us, and 
how be made useful to us." 

"But," said Charley, after thinking intently for a few moments, "how 
can anything that is not hot itself make other things hot, and set them on 
fire?" 

" Did you never see a horse's shoe strike fire on the stones in the street ? 
and do you not know that the axles of railway-cars and other carriages 
will become hot — sometimes red-hot — if not kept well oiled ? and did you 
never read of travellers or hunters in a forest, when they had no matches, 
kindling a fire by rubbing two dry sticks together ? " 

Charley had seen or read of all these things, but had not thought much 
about how they were done. His father continued: "Motion suddenly 
stopped, or partly stopped, by friction, always produces heat If the quick 
motion caused in the particles of any substance by the electric force is 
partly interrupted by any means, the substance itself may quickly become 
very hot 



1 873.] A Talk about Electricity. 159 

" Now, in some substances, such as copper, iron, and several other metals, 
electric action appears to take place very easily, and hence these are called 
good conductors. But in other substances, like glass, resin, dry air, etc., 
there seems to' be a resistance to electric action, and these are called 
poor conductors , or non-conductors. Water is a pretty good conductor, but 
not nearly so good as iron. When the electric force attempts to act in any 
of these poor conductors, or non-conductors, it meets with such resistance 
that heat results, just as when two pieces of dry wood or iron are rubbed 
together hard." 

" Well, all this is very curious ; but will you please explain just how this 
wonderful force acts when it snaps in my hair, and when it shivers trees to 
pieces, and sets houses on fire ? " asked Charley. 

" Let me first tell you," said Mr. Leslie, " that the electric force is pro- 
duced by rubbing together almost any unlike substances ; but if one or both 
of these substances should happen to be a good conductor, like iron, the 
force is carried off and dissipated, so that you see and feel nothing of it 
If, however, both are non-conductors, like glass and silk, the force seems 
to collect on the surface, and shows itself by a spark, or by attracting light 
articles. 

44 Your hair is a non-conductor ; the friction of the dry wind, or perhaps 
of the comb, produces electricity in small quantities on the ends of some 
of the hairs. These are then positively electrified, as it is termed; and 
when other objects which are negative are brought near them, the force 
passes from one to the other with a spark and a snapping sound. When 
the air is full of moisture or water, this, being a tolerably good conductor, 
carries off the electricity as fast as it is produced. Hence it is not percep- 
tible in damp weather. 

" Dr. Livingstone, the great African explorer, states that the hot, dry 
winds of the deserts sometimes produce such quantities of electricity that 
a bunch of ostrich feathers held against the wind for a few seconds becomes 
as strongly charged as if attached to a powerful electrical machine, and will 
emit a sharp crackling sound when clasped by the hand ; while the clothing 
will give out a luminous appearance on a slight rubbing. 

44 A scientific gentleman once climbed to the top of one of the pyramids 
of Egypt, accompanied by two Bedouin Arabs as servants. While standing 
on the summit, he found that his hand would emit electric light whenever 
he extended it upward, much to the astonishment of the Arabs. He then 
pointed his finger toward a metallic button on a gourd which he carried 
with him, when a succession of sparks flashed from the button. This so 
terrified the superstitious Bedouins that they fled down the steps of the 
pyramid and disappeared in the desert, never returning to claim their wages. 
They* thought their employer must be some dreadful conjurer, who had 
power to control and play with the lightnings. 

** Now as to the tree. The electric force always follows the line of the 
best conductors. A green tree is a much better conductor than air, and 
the moisture or sap in the tree is much better than the wood. When an 



i6o 



A Talk about Electricity. 



[March, 




Two Trees struck. 

electric discbarge from the clouds to the earth takes a tree in its course, 
it sometimes finds a sufficient conductor in the sap just underneath the bark. 
This, by the heat which is produced, is in some cases instantly converted 
into steam, stripping off the bark in its path down the trunk. Sometimes 
the electricity penetrates to the heart of the tree, or among the layers of 
wood, and, suddenly changing' the moisture to vapor, causes an explosion 
which rends the trunk into splinters. 

" But how does lightning set a house on fire ? I have said that it always 
makes its path through the best conductors it can find. If there is a bit 
of iron or other metal within reach, it seeks it out. Sooner than pass 



1 8730 



A Talk about Electricity. 



161 



through a single inch of water, even, it will travel four hundred million times 
as far through iron wire, if this is at hand. But if a powerful current tries to 
pass through a small wire, or a nail in a building, the metal instantly be- 
comes heated and melts ; and if this melted iron happens to fall on anything 
which kindles easily, the building is soon in flames. 

" From this you will understand the use of lightning-rods on buildings. 
They should be made of copper or iron, large enough not to melt under a 
powerful current, and should enter the ground deep enough to reach earth 
that is always moist 

" The human body and the bodies of animals are better conductors than 
trees, and this makes it dangerous to stand near a tree in a thunder-storm. 
I have read somewhere of a French peasant protecting himself from light- 




vol. rx. — no. in. 



Afraid of Thunder. 
II 



162 A Talk about Electricity. [March, 

ning by getting under a glass bell, — a rather ludicrous situation, I should 
think * 

" Lightning often seems very capricious in the feats it performs. A church 
at Antrasme in France was once struck by an electric discharge which 
passed down the tower, following a very crooked path, and entered the aisle,, 
\ doing a great deal of damage. It melted the gilding of the picture-frames, 
blackened the faces of the statues of saints, melted some rods of tin in the 
vestry, and at last passed out through the floor of a side chapel, boring two 
holes as smoothly as would a gimlet. This damage was very carefully re- 
paired, and all traces of it removed. Twelve years later the same church 
was again struck, the discharge following precisely the same track, repeating 
the same damages, and boring holes in the same spots in its exit This 
seems to show that its whole course was governed by exact laws, from which 
it could not deviate, — and this, no doubt, is always the case." 

" But what makes so much of this ' force ' — if that is what we must call 
it — up in the clouds ? How does it get there ? " asked Lizzie. 

"I have already said," was the reply, "that this force is produced by 
friction. Two great currents of air, blowing in different directions, as they 
often do, may be said to rub against each other, and in that way immense 
quantities of the force are supposed to be developed, as we produce small 
quantities by rubbing glass. It appears to be absorbed by and stored up in 
the vapor of the clouds, until these become strongly or positively charged, 
and then they must discharge themselves into the negative earth. When 
the air near the earth is full of moisture, the electricity is conducted silently 
down, and is not noticed ; but when the lower stratum of air is compara- 
tively dry, then the force descends in what we call thunderbolts, leaping to 
the best conductors it can find on its way." ' 

" But," inquired Ada, " why does it take the zigzag course we often see 
it have when darting through the air? Why doesn't it go the shortest 
way?" 

" That, I think, must be because it takes the line of the greatest moisture,, 
which probably is not at all times evenly distributed through the air." 

" Some people say," remarked Charley, " that they have seen the light- 
ning strike upwards from the earth to the clouds. Does it ever really do 
so ? " 

" Upward discharges, no doubt, occasionally take place, when the earth 
happens to become positive to the clouds. Continuous electric flames 
rising from the tops of prominent objects are sometimes seen. Once when 
an army of Roman soldiers were marching to battle, their spears were seen 
tipped with fire. This was thought to be a certain sign of the favor of the 
gods, but it was probably an electrical phenomenon of the kind we are 
speaking of. Similar flames have been repeatedly seen issuing from the 
tops of masts on ships at sea, and they are called the Fire of St. Elmo. 

* See " The Wonders of Thunder and Lightning," a little work full of curious anecdotes and 
pictures illustrating this subject. It is one of Scribner, Armstrong, & Co/s famous " Wonder 
Books." 



1873] 



A Talk about Electricity. 



163 



It is stated that such a light appeared, on one occasion, at the mast-head 
of the vessel in which Columbus made his voyage for the discovery of 
America, and it was thought an omen of success. A more recent instance 
occurred in March, 1866, when the captain of a vessel sailing in the English 
Channel observed during a storm a blaze of light, not only at the top of 
the mainmast, but at the end of every yard. The flame at the bowsprit 
was the most vivid ; and the captain, who understood its nature, but wished 
to study it more closely, climbed up and extended his hand toward the 
blaze. Instantly the current changed its course so as to pass through his 
body, and the flame streamed from the ends of his fingers. But it produced 
no shock, and no sensation of heat ; nor was any sign of fire left on masts 
or spars, though the flame continued for hours. 

" Electric currents, not sufficiently strong to be seen, are doubtless often 
passing upward to the clouds. A photographer in Berlin, on taking a 
photograph of a statue in a public square in that city, — it represented an 
Amazon holding a lance pointing to the sky, — found to his surprise a streak 
in the negative, extending upward from the point of the lance. It was made, 
evidently, by an electric current invisible to the eye. 




The Fire of St. Elmo. 



164 Gussy's Coasting. [March, 

M Lightning itself sometimes makes pictures. A sailor was once struck 
by lightning while sitting on a box near the foremast of his vessel, mending 
his clothes. On the foremast had been nailed a horseshoe, for the purpose 
of ' keeping off witches. 1 When the clothing was removed from his body, 
an exact image of this horseshoe was found imprinted on the sailor's back, 
as if it had been tattooed. In other instances, images of leaves, and even 
of whole trees, have been formed upon the bodies of persons affected by 
electric shocks. In such cases it is supposed that fine particles are actually 
torn by the electric force from the object which forms the point of discharge, 
and carried to the surface where the picture is made. 

"But these curious feats of this mysterious and powerful force are no 
more wonderful than are the ways in which it has been tamed and trained 
to work for man. What was once a cause of wondering terror to mankind 
has now become a most useful servant in many of the arts, and a swift 
message-bearer from city to city and from continent to continent, until it 
has brought almost the whole world into one neighborhood. Possibly at 
no distant day it will light our streets and dwellings, move our carriages, 
and propel our machinery.' 1 

" O father, do tell us how they make electricity carry messages on the 
telegraph wires!" said Ada, speaking for the others. "I never could 
understand it. 11 

"It is too late to-night," was the reply; "but we will take that for the 
subject of our next talk." 

N. A. Eliot. 



GUSSY'S COASTING. 

THERE is one evening in Gussy Hale's life that she will remember as 
long as she lives, and that is the evening she went sliding with Gid on 
Maple Hill. 

She carried as happy a little heart there as ever beat in a baby bosom, 
and brought it home with her too. Her ringers ached desperately, to be 
sure, and the tears came through her nose unaccountably, and there was a 
bruise on her forehead ; but all this was of no account whatever. 

Evening after evening she had heard the joyous shouts, and watched the 
darting sleds, with her face pressed against the pane, and her whole soul 
in sympathy with the noisy throng, until she was struck dumb with joy by 
her father's announcement that she should go, for once, with Gid. Her 
mother began to protest mildly with a " Now, William ! " and Gussy was 
kept quivering in suspense for five minutes while the subject was discussed. 
Her father urged that the evening was fine, and that Gideon was fully com- 
petent to take care of his little sister ; and her mother consented finally, with 
many cautions to Gideon, and with a promise from him that he would slide 
her five times, and no more. 



1 873.] Guss/s Coasting. 165 

Gussy is a most unwieldy little dancer, but she usually expresses intense 
joy by a kind of clumsy gymnastic feat which Gid calls dancing. She bops 
as high as she can raise her fat little body, comes down solidly on her heels, 
or loses her equilibrium recklessly and rolls in glee. Upon hearing her 
mother's decision, she betook herself to her favorite exercise with such zeal, 
and laughed and sang, and hugged and kissed them all by turns so raptu- 
rously that it did their hearts good to see her. 

It was such a new and wonderful experience, however, to be out under 
the cold, brilliant moon and the winking stars, walking with Gid among the 
shadows, — the houses, steeples, trees, and fences all unfamiliar in the weird 
light, — that she grew quite still and awe-struck. 

While they climbed the hill, the coasters came dashing past them, — boys 
and girls, large and small, but none so small as she. In vain she looked 
for Kitty Pluramer or Dovey Haines. Meg Cameron was there with her 
superb new sled, the " Queen of the Hills " ; but Meg was ten, an only daugh- 
ter, and far too proud to care for little four-year-olds. While Gid settled 
Gussy comfortably on the sled at the top of the hill, Meg, adjusting her 
overshoe, looked on scornfully. 

** 1 should think your mother would keep such babies at home. 1 ' 

Gid's eyes flashed, only nobody saw them. There was always war between 
these two. She hated him because he was the only boy in school who 
would not reply to her taunts ; and he despised her because she was saucy, 
and was a girl. If a boy went beyond the bounds of forbearance, it was 
sometimes extremely gratifying to force him up to the mark, and exact fair 
play according to the school-boy standard. A girl could be equally exas- 
perating, and at the same time be exempt from the deserved punishment, 
thus becoming doubly obnoxious. 

He only stood up silently now, and waited until the " Queen of the Hills " 
was on her way ; then, as he glided after, with his chin over Gussy's shoul- 
der, he 'whispered, " Never mind, Chick, she 's only a girl!" And Gussy 
was altogether too young and too happy to resent this implication. 

Meg's fling was only one of the little pricks which children as well as 
grown men and women have to endure ; and a little triumph followed it too, 
for old Pointer distanced the " Queen of the Hills," and all the boys set up 
a shout at the sight 

"That slide counts one, and 'twas a good one; wasn't it, Gussy ?" 
shouted Gid, triumphantly tugging her up the hill again. 

" Yes ! " piped Gussy back, for all the coasters conversed at the top of 
their lungs ; " I never went so fast ! We-we-went 's fast as the wailwoad! " 

This time all the sleds came up at once, and were to start together for a 
race ; but Gid, mindful of his mother's caution, waited till they had all gone 
down, and then started alone with Gussy. With all her delight, she was a 
little timid as yet, and grasped the sled tightly, cautioning him to "go 
stwait" 

" I shall go straight, Gussy," he assured her. " See, I drag my foot so, 
and steer just as true as a dart" 



i66 Gussy's Coasting. [March, 

" I may sheer some time, may n't I ? " she questioned, catching her breath 
as they began to go faster ; and his answer was lost in the huzzas at the foot 
of the hill. 

" This makes two ! " he said, turning the sled and climbing back. " We 
can have three more. Can you keep tally, Ducky ? " 

" Yes," she answered, looking up at the stars ; " I wish 't was forty-'leven ! 
as many as the stars is ; don't you, Gid ? " At this moment a sled came 
dashing down and, swerving like a flash to avoid another sled coming up, 
grazed Gid's in passing, and interrupted her star-gazing by rolling her off 
into a drift 

" Are you hurt, Gussy ? " asked her brother, catching her up. 

" No-o ! " she answered, rather uncertainly ; " only I b'lieve my elbow *$ 
full er snow ! " 

" Never mind a little snow ; if that 's all, we 're all right again." And, 
tucking her down on the sled, he pranced off with her so comically that 
she soon forgot the overturn in her merriment at his antics. 

Now the road was very wide, and in the exact middle of the sliding track 
was a gigantic "jounce," which the boys affected and the girls shunned. 
Gid, although he slid carefully on the slides with Gussy, was aching to 
plunge over that identical jounce. And he secretly resolved that, after he 
had given her five slides, he would put her in Lucy Snow's care, and go 
down once jollily. 

The next slide the boys all hitched their sleds together, Hugh Cameron 
ahead, in spite of Meg's protestations, and steered straight for the jounce, 
shouting, " Clear the track ! Train 's coming I " and only Gid and Gussy 
remained behind. * 

Just as the train got swiftly under way, the cry of " A team ! a team ! " 
was raised, and Gid saw with surprise a horse and sleigh at the foot of 
the hill. 

The snake-like train gliding down the hill with the uproarious <cries of 
" Turn out ! Hold on ! " frightened the horse, which plunged out of the 
road on one side, while the snarl of sleds piled up on the other. 

" Whoa, here ! " called out a peculiar voice, which the boys immediately 
recognized as the voice of an eccentric old codger who lived two or three 
miles from the village. " What yer dewin' here, yer catermeounts ? " 

" Minding our own business," retorted Hugh, from whose face the blood 
was dropping. " This hill is for us boys to slide on, and nobody but green- 
horns ever drives through here, either ! " 

" Sho ! " drawled the old man, calmly, getting back slowly into his sleigh, 
and turning his horse. " Then, seein' 's I don't set up for a greenhorn, boys, 
I guess I '11 go back. Sorry, though, that I sp'ilt your slide." 

This was certainly rather unexpected, and called forth a chorus of apolo- 
gies from the other boys ; but Hugh, somewhat hurt and very much ashamed, 
went sulkily home, followed by Meg, and sorrily soothed by her triumphant 
" I told you so." 

Gussy's remaining three slides were delightful successes, for old Pointer 



J 873.] Gussy s Coasting. 167 

was a prodigy of speed, and the cheers which invariably followed their wild 
progress were very exhilarating to Gussy. 

" Now, Chicky," Gid said, after the fifth slide, " you stand here a minute 
with Lucy, and see us boys go all hitched together once. O, you '11 say it 's 
fun ! You watch, and when the head boy gets to the jounce, and hollers 
'Hoopi la!* you'll see him pop; and then the whole train 'U go popping 
after him, right up into the air and down with a chunk / and then we '11 go 
home." 

Gussy danced with delight by Lucy's side, but said nothing. 

The Pointer was generously swapped for Bob Thayer's "Dexter," and 
Bob went head boy and Gid hindermost Each boy hitched the rope of 
his rear neighbor's sled to his own, and lay fiat, face down. The word was 
given, and the train had begun to move from the hill-top, when Gussy broke 
from Lucy, and, running with all her speed, flung herself forward, and came 
down like a bomb upon her brother's head and shoulders. 

" O Gussy / " he screamed, helplessly, — for her fifty pounds held him down 
like a nightmare, — " get off ! Get off ! " 

"/ can s&eer, Gid ! " shouted the little plague, sticking in her toes sturdily, 
and swinging the fed off in spite of him. They were now going like the 
wind. 

" Boys ! " bawled Gid, frantically, " stop ! hold on ! don't go over that 
jow-ow-ounce ! " 

But it was too late ; the jounce was reached, the popping process already 
begun. 

His outcry had only set the boys to "snubbing" and jamming up to- 
gether, and at every pop there was a crash. When Gid's sled struck, 
Gussy popped off into space, and he was inserted endwise in a snow-bank 
on the opposite side of the track, so thoroughly frightened at the thought 
of Gussy's probable damages that he did not think of himself. All that 
could be seen of that rash infant was a pair of red socks kicking vigorously 
but noiselessly ; but it turned out, when she was pulled up where she could 
breathe, that she was very slightly injured. 

u Dear little heart ! " exclaimed Gid, pityingly, rubbing her smarting fore- 
head with his rough, wet mitten. 

" No matter, Gid," she said, resolutely trying not to sob. " That sled 
don't skeer so well as Pointer, does it ? " 

Several of the boys were hurt, but none seriously, and they all laughed 
heartily over the catastrophe. Bob Thayer's nose excited some derision 
among the scholars for a few days, but he bore it good-naturedly. 

When the jolly coasters were all gathered in their respective homes, and 
the hill stood white and silent in the moonlight, Gid, sitting in the flicker- 
ing firelight, rehearsed the main incidents of the evening to an interested 
auditor far more entertainingly than they are related here. 

Anna Boynton Averill. 



1 68 



The Fax in the Well. 



[March, 



THE FOX IN THE WELL. 



SIR REYNARD once, as I 've 
heard tell, 
Had fallen into a former's well, 
When Wolf, his cousin, passing 

by, 

Heard from the depths his dismal 
cry. 

Over the wheel a well-chain hung, 
From which two empty buckets 

swung: 
At one, drawn up beside the brink, 
The Fox had paused, no doubt, to 

drink, 
And, putting #n his head, had 

tipped 
The bucket: Fox and bucket 

slipped, 
And, hampered by the bail, he fell, 
As I have said, into the well. 
As down the laden bucket went, 
The other made its swift ascent 

His cousin, Wolf, beguiled to stop, 
Listened astonished at the top, 
Looked down, and by the uncer- 
tain light 
Saw Reynard in a curious plight, — 
There in his bucket at the bottom, 
Calling as if the hounds had got 
him! 

" What do you there ? " his cousin 
cried. 

<4 Dear Cousin Wolf," the Fox re- 
plied, 

"In coming to the well to draw 

Some water, what d'ye think I 
saw ? 

It glimmered bright and still be- * 
low; 
You Ve seen it, but you did not know 




1873J The Story, of Florinda. 169 

It was a treasure ! Now, behold ! 
I 'ye got my bucket filled with gold, 
Enough to buy ourselves and wives 
Poultry to last us all our lives 1 " 

The Wolf made answer, with a grin, 
u Dear me ! I thought you 'd tumbled in ! 
What, then, is all this noise about?" 
"Because I could not draw it out, 
I called to you," the Fox replied. 
"First help me, then we will divide." 

"How?" "Get into the bucket there." 
The Wolf, too eager for a share, 
Did not one moment pause to think ; — 
There hung the bucket by the brink, 
And in he stepped. As down he went, 
The cunning Fox made his ascent, 
Being the lighter of the two. 

"That 's right 1 ha, ha ! how well you do ! 

How glad I am you came to help ! " 

Wolf struck the water with a yelp ; 

The Fox leaped out: "Dear Wolf," said he, 

f* You *ve been so very kind to me, 

I '11 leave the treasure all to you ; — 

I hope 't will do you good ! Adieu ! 

There comes the farmer 1 " Off he shot, 

And disappeared across the lot, 

Leaving the Wolf to meditate 

Upon his miserable fate, — 

To flattering craft a victim made, 

By his own greediness betrayed 1 

7. T. Trowbridge. 



THE STORY OF FLORINDA. 

A PARTY of small cousins were spending New Year's at Grandma. 
** Bowen's, and while waiting for tea they begged her to tell them the 
storUf Florinda, — some because they had never heard it, others because 
the^ad. The old lady was more than willing. "Yes," said she, "we 
Bowens ought to keep alive the memory of Florinda, the faithful hired girl ; 
and I will tell you the story just as your grandfather told it to me, and just 



170 The Story qf Florinda. [March, 

as his grandfather told it to him, and as his grandfather told it to him. 
Your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather remembered Nathaniel Be wen 
very well, and his father, — Nathaniel Bowen's father, — the first Mr. Bowen 
of all, came over from England in the bark Jasper, more than two hundred 
years ago. He brought his family with him, and they settled in this very 
place where we live now. The country was covered with woods then. 
Indians, buffaloes, deer, wolves, and foxes had it pretty much to themselves. 
" But if I am going to tell the story," continued the old lady, suddenly 
raising her voice and sitting straight in her chair, " there is something to 
be done first, so that we may seem to see just how they lived in those days. 
For instance, carry out the furniture, and the stove, pictures, carpet Make 
believe, you know. Then tear the house down, leaving only this one room, 
and let this one room pass for that one-roomed hut But knock away lath 
and plaster ; the walls must be made of logs. The same overhead. Cut 
square holes for windows, and hang wooden shutters inside. One of the 
holes may have four small panes of glass. Cover the others with oiled paper, 
— there was no glass made in this country then. Let a stone chimney run 
up through the logs overhead at one end, and at the other end a ladder, 
leading to a loft." The fireplace very large. And now, to furnish the hut, 
bring in a bed, a meal-chest, a large, heavy clothes-chest, a spinning-wheel, 
a bench or two, and a few chairs. Can you see that hut now ? " 
" And the stumps /" cried one little fellow, who knew the whole story. 
"Yes, Gussy," said the old lady, looking pleased, "and some stumps of 
trees, sawed off short, for the little ones to sit on. 

"There was one house beside in the valley, and only one, and that 
belonged to a man named Moore. It stood nearly an eighth of a mile off in 
that direction " (pointing). " Four miles off in that direction " (pointing the 
opposite way), " at the Point, called then Mackerel Point, there were some 
dozen or twenty houses, a store, and a mill. No road between here and the 
Point, only a blind pathway through the woods. Those woods reached 
hundreds and hundreds of miles ! 

" When Mr. Bowen had lived in this country a little more than a year, 
his wife died, leaving three children, — Philip, not quite eleven ; Nathaniel, 
six ; and Polly, three, — and to take care of these children, and to keep his 
house, he hired a young girl named Florinda LeShore, who came over from 
England as servant in some family. This Florinda was born in France, 
but had spent the greater part of her life in England. She was only fifteen 
years old, — rather young to take the care of a family. There were so few 
whites in this country then, however, that Mr. Bowen was glad to get even a 
girl fifteen years old. I suppose he little thought she would be the means 
of saving the lives of two of his children. 

" Florinda hired out to Mr. Bowen some time in November. On the 
29th of December, as Mr. Bowen and Mr. Moore were saddling their 
horses to go to the store, word came that they must set out immediately 
for a place about fifteen miles off, called Dermott's Crossing, to consult with 
other settlers as to what should be done to defend themselves against the 



1 873] The Stofx of Florinda. 171 

Indians, for there were reports that in some neighborhoods the Indians 
were doing mischief. 

u So the two men turned their horses' heads in the direction of Dermott's 
Crossing. It was woods most of the way, but they knew the general direc- 
tion of the bridle-path, and thought they should make good time and be back 
by noon of the next day. Florinda baked corn-meal into cakes, and put 
the cakes and some slices of bacon into the saddle-bags, along with the 
corn for the horse. They were to return by way of the store, and bring 
provisions. 

" Two days and two nights passed, and they had neither come nor sent 
any message. By that time there was not much left to eat in either house. 
Florinda and the children slept both nights at Mrs. Moore's. Mr. Bowen 
said it would be better for them to sleep there. He did not fear any actual 
danger, — the Indians in this neighborhood had never been troublesome at all, 
—still, in case anything should happen, Mrs. Moore's house was much safer 
than ours. It was built of heavy timbers, and its doors were oak, studded 
with spikes. The Indians never attacked a strong house like that, especially 
if guarded by a white man with fire-arms. Mrs. Moore was a feeble woman. 
She had two little children, and her brother was then living with her, — a 
young man named David Palmer, at that time confined indoors on account 
of having frozen his feet badly. 

u On the second morning, Philip said to Florinda that he would take his 
hand-sled and go to the store and get some meal and some bacon for them- 
selves and Mrs. Moore. Florinda felt loath to let him go. It was a long 
distance, the snow was deep, — no track, and woods nearly all the way. 
But Philip said that he was n't afraid ; the oldest boy ought to take care of 
the family : and at last Florinda said he might go. There seemed no other 
way. For, unless he did, they might all starve, especially if there should 
come on a heavy snow-storm. 

" Philip had a hand-sled made of barrel staves. He took this hand-sled, 
and took a shovel to dig his way through the drifts. Mrs. Moore had him 
start from her house, because she wanted to be sure he was well wrapped 
up. She felt badly about his going, as well as Florinda. There was danger 
of his losing his way, and there were other dangers, which neither of them 
liked to speak of. He left home in good spirits, about nine o'clock in 
the morning, on the thirty-first day of December, promising to be back be- 
fore evening. 

" Florinda spent the day in spinning and in other work for the family. 
As soon as it began to grow dark, Mrs. Moore sent her little boy over to 
inquire. Florinda sent word back that Philip had not come, and that she 
should wait until he did come, before going over to Mrs. Moore's. 

" After the boy had gone back, Florinda barred the door and shut all the 
window-shutters but one. She left that open, so that Philip might see the 
firelight shining through. The children began to cry because Philip was 
out all alone in the dark woods, and Florinda did everything she could to 
take up their minds. Nathaniel told afterward of her rolling up the cradle- 



172 The Story of Florinda. [March, 

quilt into a baby for little Polly, and pinning an apron on it, and of her set- 
ting him letters to copy on the bellows with chalk. He said she tied a 
strip of cloth round his head, to keep the hair out of his eyes when he bent 
over to make the letters. He remembered her telling them stories about 
the people in France, of their outdoor dancings and their grape-pickings ; 
and that, to amuse them, she took from her clothes-box a spangled work- 
bag, that was made in France, and then took out a funny high-crowned cap 
her mother used to wear, and put the cap on her own head while she went 
on spinning, to make them laugh ; and that when little Polly wanted a cap 
too, she twisted up a handkerchief into the shape of a cap for her ; and 
remembered her stopping her wheel very often to listen for Philip. He 
always spoke of Florinda as a sprightly, bright-eyed girl, who was pleasing 
both in her looks and her manners. 

" At last little Polly fell asleep and was put into bed. Nathaniel insisted 
on waiting up till Philip came, and Florinda humored him. He laid his 
head on her lap and dropped asleep there, and slept till she got up to put 
more wood on. It was then nearly twelve o'clock. Nathaniel woke in a 
fright. He had been dreaming about wolves, which made him cry. 

In the midst of his crying there came a tap at the door. Florinda made 
no answer. Then a voice said, "St! 'st!' Still she made no answer. 
Then the voice said, softly, ' Florinda V It was the young man David 
Palmer, Mrs. Moore's brother. He had crawled all the way between the two 
houses, to see if they were safe, and if they would not come over. Florinda 
said no, that she had plenty of work to do, and was not afraid, and meant 
to stay and keep a good fire agoing for Philip. The young man told her 
the window-shutter ought to be shut, to keep the light from shining out, in 
case any Indians might be going through the woods ; that when Philip got 
within half a mile of the house he could keep his course by the brook. 
Florinda closed the shutter. He then told her something, in a tone of voice 
too low for the children to hear, which made her look quite thoughtful. He 
pointed to a knot-hole in the shutter, and she hung a shawl over it Then 
he dried his fur mittens a few minutes longer at the blaze, and went back 
to stay with his sister. 

" When the young man had been gone a little while, Nathaniel climbed 
up and looked through the knot-hole, and told Florinda he saw a fire in the 
woods. Florinda said she thought not, maybe it was the moon rising, and 
kept on with her spinning. By and by he looked again, and said he did 
see a fire, and some Indians sitting down by it Florinda left her wheel 
then, and looked through, and said yes, it was so. She kept watch after- 
ward, and saw them put out the fire and go away into the woods toward 
the Point She told Nathaniel of this, and then held him in her arms and 
sang songs, low, in a language he could not understand By this time it 
was pretty near morning. 

" On the back side of the hut, near the fireplace, there had been in the 
summer a hole or tunnel dug through to the outside under the logs. It 
was begun by a tame rabbit that belonged to Nathaniel. The rabbit bur- 



1873O The St0f 7 °f Fkrinda. 173 

rowed out and got away. The children at play dug the hole deeper and 
wider, and it came quite handy in getting in firewood. This passage was 
about four feet deep. They called it the back doorway. When winter came 
on, it was filled up with sand and moss. No doubt Florinda planned exactly 
what to do in case of an attack, as she spent the latter part of that night 
in taking the filling from the back doorway. The outer part was frozen hard, 
and had to be thawed with hot water. Nathaniel helped carry the water. 
When this was done, she took the work-bag out of her clothes-box, and put 
into it Mr. Bowen's papers and the teaspoons. (Among the papers were 
deeds of property in England.) Little Polly waked and cried, and both 
children complained of being hungry. There were a few handfuls of meal 
left Florinda baked it into a cake, and divided it between them. She said 
a great deal to Nathaniel about taking care of little Polly, — told him that, 
• if any bad Indians came to the door, he must catch hold of her hand and 
run just as quick as he could, through the back way, to Mrs. Moore's. Her 
chief care, then and afterward, seemed to be for the children. And when 
danger came in earnest, she made no attempt to save herself; her only 
thought was to save them. 

"While she was talking to Nathaniel, in the way I have said, they all 
heard a step outside. It was then a little after daybreak. Some one tapped 
at the door, and a strange voice said, 4 A friend, open quick / ' She opened 
the door, and found a white man standing there. This white man told her 
that unfriendly Indians were prowling about, to rob, to kill, and to burn 
dwelling-houses, and that two were known to be in that very neighborhood. 
The man was a messenger sent to warn people. He could not stop a 
moment This was on the morning of the 1st of January. As soon as the 
man had gone, Florinda double-barred the door, raked up the fire, put on 
her things and the children's things, and got ready to go with them over to 
Mrs. Moore's ; gave them each a bundle, and took one herself. But before 
starting she opened the shutter a crack and looked out, and saw, it was 
supposed, the two Indians coming toward the door, for she flung down her 
bundle, snatched the children's away from them, hung the work-bag round 
Nathaniel's neck, whispering, 'Run/ Run/ You'll have time / I'll keep 
them out till you get away / ' all the while pulling at the clothes-chest He 
heard the Indians yell, and saw Florinda brace herself against the door, 
with her feet on the chest l Run/ Run/' she kept saying. ' Take care 
of little Polly / Don't let go of little Polly / ' 

" Nathaniel ran with little Polly, and on the way they met the young man, 
David Palmer, creeping along with his gun. He was coming to tell Florinda 
to hurry away. He saw by the looks of the children that something dread- 
ful had happened, and just at that moment heard the yells of the Indians 
and the sound of their clubs beating in the door. David Palmer said after- 
ward that it seemed to him he never should reach that house. And when 
he had almost reached it, his gun failed him, — or, rather, his hands failed 
to hold it. He started without his mittens, and his fingers were stiff and 
numb from creeping over the frozen snow. 



174 The Story of Florinda. [March, 

" He threw the gun down, and went on just as fast as a man could in such 
a condition, almost without hands or feet, and presently saw two Indians 
start from the house and run into the woods, dropping several things on 
the way, — stolen articles, some of which were afterward found. He lis* 
tened a moment, and heard dogs barking, then crept round the corner of 
the house. The door had been cut away. Florinda lay across the chest, 
dead, as he thought, — and indeed she was almost gone. They had beaten 
her on the head with a hatchet or a club. One blow more, and Florinda 
would never have breathed again. David Palmer did everything he could 
do to make her show some signs of life, and was so intent upon this that 
he paid no attention to the barking of the dogs, did not notice that it 
was growing louder and coming nearer every moment Happening to 
glance toward the door, he saw a man on horseback, riding very slowly 
toward the house, leading another horse with his right hand, and with his 
left drawing something heavy on a sled. As the man on horseback came 
nearer, it proved to be Mr. Moore. He was leading Mr. Bowen's horse 
with his right hand, and with the other he was dragging along Mr. Bo wen 
on Philip's band-sled." 

" Philip t " cried two or three. " Did he come ? " 

" No — yes — that is, he came at last He had not come, though, at the 
time of their finding his sled. Mr. Moore found the sled, or, rather, Mr. 
Moore's dog found it, as they were riding along. Those two men had a 
good reason for staying away, though such a reason can hardly be called 
good. Coming home from Dermott's Crossing, Mr. Bowen was taken sick. 
They knew of a house a mile or two out of the way, and went to it. There 
was nobody there. The family had left on account of the Indians, but 
Mr. Moore found some means of getting in. Just as soon as Mr. Bowen 
was able to be bound to his horse and carried, they set out for home, but 
had to travel at a very slow pace. When they had almost reached home, 
Mr. Moore's dog, in racing through the woods, stopped at a clump of 
bushes, and there he sniffed and scratched and yelped, and made a great 
ado. Then Mr. Bowen's dog did the same. Mr. Moore hitched the horses, 
and went to see, and found Philip's sled among the bushes, with a bag of 
meal on it, and a shoulder of bacon. Mr. Bowen being then weary and 
faint, and much travel-bruised, Mr. Moore put the bag of meal and the ba- 
con on the horse, then covered the sled with boughs, and laid Mr. Bowen on 
top of them and drew him along. It was supposed that those dogs barking 
so frightened away the Indians. Philip himself left the sled under those 
bushes. That day he went to the Point he had to wait for corn to be 
ground, which made him late in starting for home. He heard a good many 
reports concerning the Indians, and thought that, instead of keeping in 
his own tracks, it would be safer to take a roundabout course back ; and 
by doing this he lost his way, and wandered in the woods till almost twelve 
o'clock at night, when he came out upon a cleared place, where there were 
several log-huts. The people in one of these let him come in and sleep 
on the floor, and they gave him a good meal of meat and potatoes. He set 



1873] The Story of Fkrinda. 175 

out again between four and five in the morning, guided by a row of stars 
that those people pointed out to him. 

" A little after daybreak, be being then about quarter of a mile from home, 
in a hilly place, he thought he would leave his sled, the load was so hard 
to draw, and run ahead and tell the folks about the Indians. So he pushed 
it under some bushes, and then, to mark the spot, he took one of his shoe- 
strings and tied one of his mittens high up on the limb of a tree." 

" One of his leather shoe-strings ! " cried the little boy who knew the 
whole story. 

" Yes, dear child," said the old lady, looking pleased again, " one of his 
leather shoe-strings, and then he ran toward home. Just as he came to the 
brook he heard some strange sounds, and climbed up into a hemlock-tree 
which overhung the brook, to hide out of sight and to look about. He lay 
along a branch listening, and presently saw Nathaniel, with the work-bag 
around his neck, hurrying toward the brook, leading little Polly, and was 
just going to call out, when, happening to glance over the other side, he 
caught sight of three Indians, standing behind some trees, watching the 
two children. Little Polly was afraid to step on the ice. She cried, and 
at last Nathaniel made her sit down and take hold of a stick, and he pulled . 
her across by it, crawling himself part of the way. Philip moved a little to 
see better, and by doing this lost sight of them a moment, and when he 
looked again they were both gone. He heard a crackling in the bushes, and 
caught sight of little Polly's blanket flying through the woods, and knew then 
that those Indians had carried off Nathaniel and little Polly ; and without 
stopping to consider, he jumped down and followed on, thinking, as he after- 
ward said, to find out where they went and tell his father. Philip was a 
plucky fellow, as you will find presently. His pluck brought him into danger, 
though ; and if it had not been for an Indian woman, of the name of Acush- 
nin, he might have lost his life in a very cruel way. This woman, Acushnin, 
lived in a white family when a child. She had a son about the age of Philip. 
It was perhaps on account of both these reasons that she felt inclined to 
save him. But I must not get so far ahead of my story. 

*' Philip, by one way or another, kept on the trail of those Indians the 
whole day. Once it was by finding the stick that little Polly dropped. Once 
it was by seeing a shred of her blanket Another time it was by coming 
across a butcher-knife the Indians had stolen from some house. And he 
had wit enough to break a limb or gash a tree now and then, so as to find 
his way back, also to take the bearings of the hills. When the Indians 
halted to rest, he had a chance to rest too. 

"At last they stopped for the night in a sheltered valley, where there 
were two or three wigwams. He watched them go into one of these, and 
then he could not think what to do next. The night was setting in bitter 
cold The shoe he took the string from had come off in running, and that 
foot was nearly frozen, and would have been quite, only for his having tied 
some moss to the bottom of it with his pocket-handkerchief. The hand 
that had no mitten was frozen. He had eaten nothing but boxberry plums 



176 The Story af Florinda. [March, 

and boxberry leaves. It was too late to think of finding his way home that 
night. He lay down on the snow, and as the Indians lifted the mats to 
pass in and out he could see fires burning and smell meats cooking. Then 
he began to feel sleepy, and knew nothing more, after that, till he woke in- 
side of a wigwam, and found two Indian women rubbing him with snow. 
He did not see Nathaniel and little Polly. They were in another wigwam. 
There were two Indians squatting on the floor, one of them quite old. 
Pretty soon another came in, and Philip knew he was one of those that 
carried off the children, because he had Florinda's work-bag hanging around 
his neck. He thought, no doubt, from seeing it on Nathaniel's neck, that 
there was the place to wear it. Philip suffered dreadful pain in his foot 
and hand, but he shut his mouth tight, for fear he might groan. He said 
afterward, when questioned about this part of his story, that he was not 
going to let them hear a white boy groan. 

"It was probably seeing him so courageous that gave them the idea of 
offering him to their chief's wife for adoption. It was a custom among 
them, when a chief's wife lost a male child by death, to offer her another, 
usually a captive taken in war, for adoption. If, after seeing the child offered 
in this way, she refused to adopt him, he was not suffered to live. 

" Now, one of those two squaws in the wigwam, the older one, was the 
Acushnin I spoke of just now, and she felt inclined to keep Philip from 
being carried to Sogonuck, which was where the chief lived; so next 
morning before light, when the Indians all went off hunting, she sent the 
other squaw out on some errand, and then told Philip, in broken English, 
what was going to be done with him, and that it would be done in two days, 
and told him in a very earnest manner, partly by signs, that he must run 
away that very morning. She bound up his foot, she gave him a moccasin 
to wear on it, she gave him a bag of pounded corn and a few strips of meat 
Philip found, from something she said, that the Indians supposed him to be 
a captive escaped from another party, and thought it would be better not 
to mention Nathaniel and little Polly, for fear the squaw might suspect he 
would send people to get them. 

" When the young squaw came in, the old one set her at work parching 
corn, with her back to the door, then made signs to Philip, and he crept 
out and ran. After running a few rods he came unexpectedly upon a wig- 
wam ; and he said, in telling this, that his heart beat so he could hardly 
breathe. There was a noise of some one pounding corn inside, and when 
that stopped he stopped, and when that went on he went on, and so crept by. 

"As soon as it began to grow light, he went along without much trouble, 
by means of the signs on the trees. But as he got farther on, there being 
fewer of these signs (because they came so swift that part of the way), he 
took* the wrong course, — very luckily, as it proved, for by doing so he fcU 
in with two men on horseback, and one of these carried him home. 

" As they came near the house, Philip saw by the chimney smoke that 
there was some one inside, and began to whistle a certain tune. 

" Up to this time Mr. Bowen had not been able to shed a tear ; but the 



1873] Throwing Kisses. 177 

moment he heard that familiar whistle, he fell down on the floor and cried 
like a little child. 

44 Florinda scarcely noticed Philip, — seemed dull, stupid, indifferent It 
was found that she had no clear recollection of anything that took place 
after Mr. Bowen's going to meet the council. Indeed, even after she was 
her own self again, she never could recall distinctly the events of those 
few days, — which was perhaps quite as well for her." 

u And did those two ever get found ? " asked a small listener. 

" Yes, Philip described the place, and that very night a party was sent 
out which captured the Indians, and brought back Nathaniel and little ' 
Polly." 

" And the work-bag ? " " And the papers ? " " And the teaspoons ? " 

44 Yes, all. Florinda had half the spoons. She was married, not many 
years after all this happened, to David Palmer, and Mr. Bowen gave them 
to her for a wedding present One of those spoons has come down in the 
Palmer family, and is now owned by Mr. Thomas Palmer of Dermotville. 

" And here is one of the three that Mr. Bowen kept," continued the old 
lady, going to a corner cupboard and holding up a small, thin, slim teaspoon, 
very oval in the bowl and very pointed at the handle. " This was given to 
your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather by Mr. Nathaniel Bowen him- 
self. Nathaniel Bowen was your ancestor. Your grandfather's grandfather's 
grandfather remembered him very well, as I told you at the beginning. You 
may be sure that this story is every word true, for the Palmer family have 
the account of it in writing, copied from the account which David Palmer 
wrote down at the time it happened." 

Mrs. Abby Morton Dion. 



THROWING KISSES. 

GIRLIE on the stairway, mother up above; 
Girlie's eyes and mother's full of tender love ; 
Girlie's little fingers throw a hurrying kiss 
Right to mother, loving, fearing not to miss; 
Mother throws one downward to her Golden-hair; 
Girlie cries, " They 're meeting, mother, in the air ! " 

By and by the girlie stands all, all alone, 
Looking sadly upward for the mother, gone 
Up the heavenly stairway. Girlie, standing here, 
Knows the mother surely, surely must be near. 
If she throws her kisses up the golden stair, 
Will they meet the mother's half-way in the air? 

Minnie B. Sfade. 
vol. dl — no. 111. 12 



I7« Tfu Fall 4>f a " Rocking- Stone." [March, 



THE FALL OF A " ROCKING-STONE.* 

ENGLAND is not the only country that can boast of rocking-stones. 
New England has several, of which Maine has at least two in its set- 
tled lands, with nobody knows hpw many in its wild lands. If the Druids 
had held sway here in olden days, we might, perhaps, have thought these 
stones to have been set up by them. As it is, we can but term them freaks 
of Nature during that bleak old glacial epoch when ice and granite fought 
so many hard battles with each other. 

One of the two mentioned above is in the town of Windham, on the 
southeast side of Canada Hill. It is of granite, eleven feet high, eighteen 
feet long, and nineteen feet wide across the middle. Some of those mighty 
glaciers which used to crawl like huge reptiles from the mountains down 
to the sea must have pushed it along and tilted it up here. Its weight has 
been estimated at two hundred and twenty tons ; yet so nicely is it poised, 
that two men can rock it without difficulty. 

The second, which is not nearly so good a rocker, is situated in the east- 
ern portion of the township of Avon, Franklin County. This is also of 
granite, thirty feet long, twenty feet wide, and fifteen feet high. It must 
thus contain about nine thousand cubic feet, which will probably weigh not 
far from six hundred and* thirty tons. It is thought to have come from Mount 
Abraham, ten miles to the northward, — all the drift bowlders of New Eng- 
land have been brought from some ledge or mountain to the northward. 

To these I would wish to add another which was thrown down by our 
" exploring party " while we were at Mount Katahdin. 

The northwest side of Katahdin is not nearly so precipitous as the south 
side ; yet there are many " spurs " too steep even for the black spruce to 
find root-hold. 

One glowing September day, just as the vast area of forest to the north- 
ward had grown glorious with red and golden tints, we had climbed to the 
ledgy shoulder of one of these lofty spurs and halted for a rest After lunch, 
and while the rest of us were stretched on the shoal, mossy soil, which here 
scarcely made pretence of clothing the granitic nakedness of the mountain, 
Raed had wandered off to " geologize " a little, as was his wont Presently 
he came hurrying back. 

" 1 say, fellows, there 's a genuine rocking-stone out here ! " he exclaimed 

" That so ? " from Wade, raising himself on one elbow. 

" Yes ; a veritable old Druid ! and the best of it is, it *s right on the very 
brink of the • slide.' I do believe we might start it to rolling ! " 

We were up at that, and, following him off for twenty or thirty rods along 
the slide> as we termed the steep side of the spur, we came to a large cob- 
ble-shaped rock, poised lightly on the rough ledge. "Just see here now," 
Raed verified ; and, pushing with his hands, he succeeded after a few efforts 
in getting it to rock several inches, to and fro. As he continued the im- 
pulses, the top of the stone erelong described an arc of fully a foot 



1873] The Fall of a " Rocking- Stone." 179 

" All put your hands on now, and let 's see whether we cannot topple it 
over," he advised. 

We all pushed at it ; but though we could somewhat accelerate its rock- 
ings, we still found it impossible to throw it out of balance. 

" What we want is a lever," said Wash ; "a big heavy pry" 

Raed ran back to where we had left our lunch-bucket for the hatchet. 
While he was gone, Wade took out his pocket-rule and made a rough meas- 
urement of the stone. It was five feet three inches in height, its extreme 
length was a trifle over eleven feet, and its width seven feet and an inch. 
Wash hastily computed its toeight to be upwards of sixty thousand pounds. 

Raed came back with the hatchet, and we all four went off to a hollow, 
three or four hundred yards to the northeast of the spur, to cut 2, pry. A 
poplar about six inches in diameter at the butt was selected and felled, after 
a vast deal of hacking. Trimming it up twenty feet, we cut it off. The 
butt-end was then sharpened to a wedge shape. 

A jolly load it gave us, back up the steep side. After getting breath, a 
stone was rolled along for a fulcrum. The upper side of the bowlder offered 
a good chance to thrust under the pry. Lifting hard, we raised it over the 
fulcrum stone, and shoved it under. It was now in position for prying. If 
we could tip the rock over, it would strike far enough down the ledgy side 
to roll ; and, once rolling, it would not stop short of the foot of the spur. 

" Ready, now," pronounced Raed ; " but look out the pry does n't slew 
round and sling us off." 

Going along to the elevated end, we leaped up, and, catching hold, climbed 
upon it Wash walked up from the fulcrum and sal down astride. We all 
got astride, and then began " teetering " slowly up and down. The immense 
leverage thus obtained made the huge bowlder rock and grind heavily. 
Harder and harder we "jounced." Wider and wider it rocked. Suddenly 
it tipped. Down we fell, pry and all, sprawling on the moss and boxberry, 
then jumped up and ran forward to see it go. 

Bumpy bump / Grind, grind! The whole spur was jarred, and shook 
beneath the heavy jolts. At first it merely turned clumsily over ; but, gath- 
ering headway with every somerset, it soon began to bound as it rolled. 
Dirt and stones flew from before it An earthquake could hardly have jarred 
and rumbled louder. 

Bounds bound I in a cloud of leaves and sticks ! White whiffs of rock- 
dust flew up from the crushed ledges, and sulphurous fumes rose to where 
we stood. Wade declared he saw sparks ! Farther down it took still longer 
leaps, rising in mighty curves, twenty, thirty, fifty feet, till with a vast crash 
it went into a dense growth of spruces a thousand feet below. 

u By Jude ! " exclaimed Wash. " What a grand spectacle ! Why, fellows, 
that 's worth all the circuses that ever trooped out of New York ! " 

44 And yet it is but the merest effort of gravitation," Raed observed, "one 
of the simplest acts of that strong force. Every similar rock on earth 
possesses the same power, if rolled from a similar ' slide.' " 

Unpublished « Camping Out " Sketches. 




SUGAR-MAKERS' SONG. 



r 



* N yonder wood, 
There long has stood 
An old brown arch of stone. 
Its form is jagged, 
Its sides are ragged, 
Its ashes rudely strewn. 



While at work we sing, 
And the wild woods ring 

To the sound of voices shrill, 
Till the sun sinks to rest, 
Far down in the west, 

Behind the wood-crowned hill. 



O'er its lone walls 

The shadow falls 
Of the ash-tree by its side, 

As toward the sky 

It towers high, 
And spreads its branches wide. 



Above us, high 

In the starry sky, 
The silvery moon is shining; 

While far below, 

On the crystal snow, 
Are the shadows intertwining. 



On either hand, 
A broad deep band 

Of maple-trees extends ; 

While swamp with ledge, 
On the western edge, 

In strange confusion blends. 



The deepening shades 
Of the forest glades 

Seem figures strange and dark ; 
And down by the rill 
That flows to the mill 

We hear the lone fox bark. 



Our feet sink low 

In the yielding snow, 
As we tap the goodly trees ; 

While the sap drops slow, 

With silvery flow, 
Keeping time to the warm spring breeze. 



Our camp-fire bright 
Throws a cheery light 

On the trees that, round it stand ; 
And our voices ring out, 
With laughter and shout, 

Far over the wooded land. 



O'er the arch all day 

We boil away • 
The sap which the maples ran; 

And, as we sip, 

We slowly dip 
The sweet from pan to pan. 



So there we stay 

Till break of day, 
Till the sun in beauty rises, — 

Till the golden light 

Of the morning bright 
The slumbering world surprises. 
Charles S. Trench. 



1 873.] Our Young Contributors. 181 

HOW WE WATCHED THE GRAPES. 

" Look a here, Bobby," cried Jack Hill, " let 's stop this game for a few minutes ; 
I want to ask you a question." 

" Well, what is it ? " I inquired in an abstracted manner, at the same time bending 
over the billiard-table, and making a shot at an easy carom, which, with my usual 
ill luck, or, if the reader likes the word better, my usual unskilfulness, I missed. 

•• What I want to ask is, how 'd you like to stay up some night and take Cecco's 
place at watching the grapes. I '11 have my double-barrelled gun, you know, and 
Cecco '11 lend you his gun, — I saw him to-day and he said he would, — and O, 
would n't it be fun if we could only see some robbers and empty a barrel or so into 
their carcasses, hey ? " 

I confess I was not much influenced by this brilliant inducement, but after a time 
I consented. Jack was jubilant 

" I guess the governor f d be rambunxious, as usual, if I was to ask his permission," 
the dutiful son remarked ; " but he 's going away for a few days next week, and 
mother won't hinder me, /know." 

The above conversation took place in the billiard-room in the country-seat of the 
Hills, an American family in Italy, with whom I was spending a few weeks of my 
vacation. Jack was an only son, and was about eighteen years old. Of course his 
age, and the dignity consequent to a few straggling- hairs on his chin (barely visible 
through a miscroscope), would have prevented him, under ordinary circumstances, 
from treating one of my tender years with anything but lofty condescension ; but as 
there was no one else in the neighborhood to associate with, he sometimes honored 
our house with his presence, and invited me to return the visit at his. To indemnify 
himself, however, he always affected to treat me in a patronizing manner, and called 
me •• Sonny " and " Bubby." 

Well, the day at length came round when Mr. Hill was to leave home, and the 
old gentleman little knew with what delight his departure was viewed by that young 
scrapegrace, his son. Jack talked over all the objections of his mother — who was 
ft mild little woman — with as much ease as he had already talked over mine, and 
the evening found us on our way to Cecco's podere, which was just adjoining the 
grounds of the villa. 

We found Cecco seated at his doorstep, and sucking a short pipe in a contempla- 
tive manner. On catching sight of us, he at once jumped up, and, after making each 
of us a bow in the polite manner customary to all contadini, and wishing us ifrluis- 
sima sera, he went into his house and brought out a great rusty blunderbuss, which 
lie handed to me. I took it with some trepidation, as it was the first fire-arm I had 
ever handled. 

Cecco offered to stay up all night and help us watch the grapes, but we would n't 
hear of such a thing ; and I guess the poor fellow was glad of a chance to get one 
good night's rest for the first time, perhaps, in many weeks. 

We roamed around the podere for some time, amusing ourselves with shooting at 
the bats that flitted to and fro above our heads ; but, dark coming on, the bats be- 
came scarcer, and at last disappeared altogether. The great town clock struck suc- 
cessively nine, ten, eleven, and still not a thief did we come across. All was as still 
and silent as the grave. 

By and by we got tired of roaming bootlessly around, and, sitting down close to a 
Mackberry-bush, we endeavored to beguile the time by conversation. But, not being 



1 82 Our Young Contributors. [March, 

used to late hoars, we soon became sleepy, and it was not long before I was suddenly 
startled by my own head falling heavily on my breast Hastily opening my eyes, and 
rubbing them vigorously to rub the drowsiness out of them, I looked around me. A 
few yards off I saw Jack in a recumbent position. 

" Hello, Jack ! " I ventured to whisper. 

A mild snore was my only answer. 

I got up and paced up and down for a few moments, in the hope of shaking off my 
drowsiness. Then I sat down again, and — Well, that 's the last I can remember. 
How long I slept I know not ; but I was suddenly awakened by a rough shake, and 
I heard Jack's voice exclaiming, ** Hello I I say, you youngster ! Wake up I " (An- 
other vigorous shake. ) " There 's thieves here. Hush, now, don't make any noise," 

I drowsily raised myself upon my elbow, hardly hearing or understanding what 
had been said ; but I had no sooner opened my eyes, than they met a sight which 
banished all vestige of sleepiness from them in a twinkling. Through the bush we 
could distinctly perceive two figures, a man and a boy, a few hundred yards off, busily 
engaged in filling a large basket with grapes. 

"Is your gun loaded?" asked Jack. 

"It 'sail right," said L 

"Then fire away !" 

Bang ! bang ! went the two guns. " Corpo di Bacco ! " shrieked the thieves ; and 
out we rushed from our cover. The distance between us had been much too great 
for our fire-arms to inflict any injury on the depredators, so we were not at all sur- 
prised when they each took hold of a side of the basket, and ran off in as lively a 
manner as possible. Then there ensued an exciting race. The speed of the pursued, 
it is true, was impeded by their basket ; but then Jack, also, had to carry his gun 
(which still contained a load), and although I had thrown aside my single-barrelled 
fire-arm immediately after discharging it, my small size prevented me from being 
much of a runner. Besides, we were not so familiar with the ground as they seemed 
to be. So long as they stayed in the open podere, however, we gained somewhat on 
them ; but when they darted out into the road, and were leading us into a neighbor- 
ing wood, the odds were rather on their side, and in all probability they would have 
escaped, but for an unlucky stumble on the part of the younger Italian. Before they 
could recover themselves we were within shooting distance. 

" Let go quelly corbelly" shouted Jack, in the charming Italian of which he was a 
master, as he levelled his gun. 

I doubt whether the two gentlemen addressed understood the full import of his 
words, but the gesture which accompanied them needed no translation. They hesi- 
tated for a moment, but the glistening barrels and Jack's determined air seemed to 
decide them ; and, dashing the stolen fruit to the ground, they made off, — whither 
we neither knew nor cared. All we wanted was their booty. 

" Guess the shortest way home '11 be through that 'ere podairy," suggested Jack. 
So through " that 'ere podairy " we went, bearing our trophy with us. The chase 
had led us away over a mile from Cecco's premises, but we were in the highest spirits, 
and felt as if we could walk several times that distance if necessary. 

" By Jingo 1 " exclaimed Jack, with a gleeful laugh, " I never saw a cheaper-look- 
ing individual than that 'ere youngster when — n 

At the instant a big hand was placed upon my shoulder, and a gruff voice ex- 
claimed, " Aha I my boys, I 've caught you at last, have I ? n 

I looked up, and found we were in the clutches of a tall, raw-boned countryman, 



i$730 0*** Young Contributors* 183 

who looked at us with anything but favorable eyes. He evidently thought we had 
been thieving on his premises, a suspicion which was greatly strengthened by our 
basket of grapes. In vain we protested our innocence, He had caught us on his 
grounds with the fruit in our possession, and that was quite proof enough to his 
mind. 

*• Go on in front now, and don't stay jabbering here I" he cried, giving each of us 
a rough shove. 

44 No, you don't, neither 1 " wrathfully yelled Jack, driving his clenched fist square 
into the down's face, a home thrust which I followed up by a vigorous kick on the 
shins. The fellow staggered a little at the unexpected attack, but, instantly recov- 
ering himself, he seised Jack in his great brawny arms as though he had been a mere 
infant He laid him on the ground, and secured his arms behind his back with a 
stout thong, notwithstanding all his straggles. I was disposed of still more easily. 

"Now," he exclaimed, with a grim chuckle, "I guess you '11 come where I want 
you to, eh?" 

In fact, we found further resistance would be useless, and so we followed our 
captor, Jack beguiling the way with a torrent of abuse, poured forth with more volu- 
bility than correctness, against "that darned come-to-dinner," as he persisted in 
calling the contadino, who evidently did n't understand a word that he said. 

In a short time we arrived at the peasant's house, and he led us into the oven- 
room, evidently with the intention of locking us up in it until morning. But a diffi- 
culty presented itself, The doors of the room were not fastened by means of lock 
and key, but by strong bolts on the inside. These were effectual enough, therefore, 
for keeping outsiders from getting into the house, but were useless for the purpose 
of preventing any one from getting out of it The peasant, however, was not to be 
nonplussed in this way, for, glancing his eye around the room, his face suddenly 
brightened up as if he had got an idea. And he had got one. Dragging us up to 
the huge brick oven, he actually made us get into it, in spite of our remonstrances. 
Of course you understand that there was no fire burning at the time. Then he took 
a chain which was lying on the ground, and fastened the great iron door of the oven, 
leaving a small chink, however, for air. Here he left us, and went out to resume 
bis watch over the grapes. We kicked and struggled for a short time, but finding 
we could n't do any good that way we desisted, and determined to make the best 
of circumstances. The oven was a very large one, and although not high enough. to 
stand up in, we could lie down in it at full length with the utmost ease. In this posi- 
tion, therefore, we remained for many dreary hours, " a prey to the most conflicting 
emotions," as the dime novels say. At last, daylight began to creep into the window, 
and we soon heard confused noises, as though the inmates of the house were getting 
up. We yelled out at the top of our voices, to attract their attention, hoping that 
at all events they would let us out of the oven. Then we heard footsteps, as if some 
one was hurrying down stairs ; then the door of the bake-room was burst open, and 
a boyish voice exclaimed, " Hello ! who was that calling ? " 

" Why, here we are, in the oven." 

Then a noise as of some one undoing the chain, and the iron door swung heavily 
found on its hinges. " The signorini 1 " 

"Beppe!" 

In fact, it was no other than young Beppe, " the butter-boy," as he was familiarly 
called at the Hills, from the fact of his furnishing their house with that indispensable 
article. His astonishment was prodigious at finding us in this predicament ; but 



184 Our Young Contributors. [March. 

when we told him our story, he was very much concerned at the conduct of his father, 
the man who had nabbed us, declaring, however, that if he had only known who we 
were, he would n't have done what he did, etc., etc In the midst of the palaver, 
who should come in but the old fellow himself, accompanied by Cecco ? The latter, 
it seems, had grown uneasy at not finding us anywhere about his podere, especially 
when he discovered the gun which I had left behind me, with the barrel empty. He 
had started out in search of us, therefore, and had luckily fallen in with Beppe's 
father. On questioning the latter as to whether he had seen anything of us, he had 
told him the story of our capture ; and, putting this and that together, they had both 
come to the conclusion that we were the missing lads. 

Beppe's father was even more profuse in bis apologies than his son had been, and 
be really seemed so abashed that Jack himself forgot all his vows of vengeance and 
readily forgave him. 

I heard no more of the matter till many weeks after I had left the Hills to return 
home, when I received a letter from Jack, at the close of which was the following : — 

14 P. S. — I suppose you remember the old coon who shut us up in his oven that 
night we went out to watch the grapes ? Well, last Saturday, which was the close 
of his vintage, he sent me round by Beppe a basketful of magnificent grapes as a 
peace-offering, I suppose. Father saw them, and of course he got the whole story 
out of me in a short time. You ought to have heard him laugh ! He wanted to pay 
Beppe, but he would n't take anything ; so father sent to town and got a bully little 
single-barrelled gun, which he 's going to give him as a Christmas present" 

tVm. S. Walsh. 
Camdbn, N. J. 



SHOES. 

Shoes are very ill-used articles. Almost everybody is "down on them." They 
are made to tramp about from morning till night At first, new shoes resent such 
treatment, and their soles cry out within them, or rather squeak out, at every step. 
They doubtless would use their tongues if they could, but they are always tongue- 
tied. But at length, after much ill usage, shoes grow patient, and forget to tell their 
wrongs. 

Shoes are very short-lived, seldom lasting a year ; but when old, and no longer fit 
for active service, instead of being allowed to rest in ease and comfort, they are 
kicked away into some dark comer of the garret, there to spend the remainder of 
their days among dust and cobwebs. 

Leather shoes are made of shoe-leather. Shoes have been used as dwelling-houses, 
for we have it from Mother Goose's own lips that " there was an old woman who 
lived in a shoe." 

Shoes have only one toe apiece. Sometimes they are copper toes. Shoes often 
have toe-nails that hurt the toes of the wearer. 

Some shoes have two soles, an inner sole and an outer sole. Shoes that have two 
soles are the best shoes. Shoes often have caps, but they are worn on their toes. 
Shoes are small in stature, being but a foot long. 

Though shoes have no minds, they understand all people except those that are bare- 
footed. 

Goody Two Steer. 




IMPROMPTU CHARADE. — " PHANTOM." 

CHARADES are much more difficult to act than plays or pantomimes, as they 
require for their success the power of carrying on a brilliant impromptu conver- 
sation, which is the somI of a charade. For this reason those for which the dialogue 
is written in full usually appear very insipid. I shall therefore offer a few plans 
or skeletons of good ones, leaving them to be endowed with life by the genius of the 
actors. Tn all words used for this purpose the pronunciation, and not the spelling of 
the syllables, is to be considered. Take for example " Phantom." 

Scene I. Fan. — A brilliant ball ; couples enter and promenade about the room, 
four of whom form a set and dance with spirit Others engage in conversation on 
the usual topics of society, criticise the dancers, etc. Then all waltz faster and faster, 
until one lady grows faint and is supported to the sofa by her companions, all of 
whom fan her with fans, newspapers, fire-shovels, and pieces of furniture. 

Scene II. Tom. — A spinster sits very upright by a round table, dressed in rustic 
style. Her lover kneels before her in an awkward manner. He offers her his heart 
and hand, which she seems inclined to accept, and they discuss their plans for the 
future amicably, until she stipulates that she must have a quart of cream every day 
for Tom. He is of course indignant at this extravagant demand, and desires to know 
who Tom is. She explains that Tom is the name of her favorite cat He declares 
that he hates pets, and that no cat can live in his house. She says that she would 
rather give up him than Tom, and points to the door, exclaiming, " Love me, love 
my cat," as he exits sheepishly. 

Last Scene. Phantom. — An old lady sits in an arm-chair. The lights are 
turned down very low. A company of children of all ages come running in, and beg 
the old lady to tell them a story, which, after much urging, she consents to do, 
if they will keep very still. They gather around her, and she proposes to tell them 
some facts from history ; but they demand a ghost story. She then begins a talc of a 
beautiful young girl who many years ago lived in this very house. Her lover went 
out in pursuit of a party of savages who had threatened the village, and was never 
heard of again. She describes in thrilling tones the grief of this lady, who wandered 
about distractedly in search of him who never came, until, heart-sick and despairing, 
she wasted away to a shadow, and slowly died of sorrow. For years and years the 
ignorant believe that she has wandered about the house where her young dream of 
love so soon faded into despair. 

Rising up, the old lady points to the door, exclaiming, " I can almost see her now, 
my long-lost great-grandaunt ! " A loud noise is heard, a tall figure draped in a 
sheet glides in ; over her face a fine muslin handkerchief is drawn very tightly, to 
give a skull-like effect The Phantom glides toward the old lady, who falls into its 
extended arms. The children scream with all their might as the curtain falls. 

G. B. Bartlett. 



1 86 



The Evening Lamp. 



[March, 



WORD SQUARES. — No. 3a , 

1. Kind of fowl 

2. A number. 

3. A bird. 

4. Performing. 

5. Kind of music 

No. 31. 

1. What the deaf man does not. 

2. A female name. 

3. A law term. 

4. To beat back. 

5. Scotch for snuffing the candle. 

BilboqueL 

CHARADE. — No. 32. 
In the bright pleasant meadows, where the 

breeze 
Is cool, with all her lambs beneath the 

trees, 
My first is sometimes found. 
Crossing the mill-stream's path, again 't is 

spied, 
As over it the limpid waters slide 
With a swift rushing sound. 
When information we desire to gain 
From any friend who kindly will explain, 
My second then we do. 
In wealthy homes where all is pomp and 

ease, 
Draped in rich folds upon the walls onesees 
My whole brought out to view. 

M. S. T. 



ILLUSTRATED REBUS. — No. 33. 




Noyiuk, 
SUNKEN ISLANDS. — No. 34. 

1. He sold me an acre terribly dry and 
sterile. 

2. Do you rub a ham as I do, with salt 
and pepper ? 

3. Is October mud as bad as ever ? 

4. Order a tin can, diameter ten inches. 

5. Eric and I ascended the mountain. 

"The Happy Four." 



PRIZE REBUS.— No. 35. 




Wm. H. Dabney, Jr. 



I873-] 



The Evening Lamp. 



187 



ENIGMAS. — No. 36. 

I am found in the farm, in the mine, in 

the street, 
In the hills, in the walk of the people 

you meet. 
I am firm, I am feeble, I 'm large, and I 'm 

small, 
I am strong, I am long, I am short, I am 

tall. 
In the farm I obstruct, in the street I can 

aid; 
I am bought, I am sold, I am useless in 

trade. 
I 'm a stone ; I'm of wood, I 'm of iron, 

or rails ; 
I assist a man's eyes when bis vision fails. 
I can walk, I can spring, I can jump, I 
• can run, 

I am found in the darkness and seen in 

the sun. 

Jack Straw. 

No. 37. 
The answer contains 12 letters, and is a 
city in tbe state of 11, 6, 3, 1, 7, 2, 5. 

The remaining letters, numbered 12, 8, 
9, 4, 10, is plunder. 

Rutkven. 

No. 38. 
My 1st is in come, but not in go. 
My 2d in quiver, but not in bow. 
My 3d is in present, but not in now. 
My 4th is in tree, but not in bough. 
My 5th is in violet, but not in red. 
My 6th is in mattress, but not in bed. 
My 7th is in hand, but not in wrist. 
My 8th is in cord, but not in twist 
My whole is a river, easy to be seen, 
If you look on a map of the " Old Thir- 
teen." 

"Sixpence." 

No. 39. 
My first is in glove, but not in hand. 
My second is in sea, but not in land. 
My third is in friends, bnt not in foes. 
My fourth is in bud, but not in rose. 
My fifth is in summer, but not in fall. 
My sixth is in narrow, but not in tall. 
My seventh is in arch, but not in bower. 
My whole is the name of a favorite flower. 
Florence E. D. 



MBTAGRAM. — No. 40. 

First I am an article of jewelry. Change 
my head, and «I appertain to the eye. 
Change again, I am often used for amuse- 
ment Change again, I am a useful part 

ofdrcs8 - Kate % age 12. 

ANAGRAM. — No. 41. 
Characters from Dickens., 

1. Ernest D. Hoadley, A. B. 

2. Abby R. Grendau. 

3. Dr. Eben M. F. Cooley. 

4. Sam J. Lerry. 

5. George J. Ray. 

6. Rev. A. L. Olny, D. D. 

7. Adela Storr. 

8. S. Owen Polard. 

Fannie and Annie. 

PUZZLE.— No. 42/ 

1. What am I? 

2. I am like a pugilist. Why ? 

3. I am like a sentinel. Why ? 

4. I am like a prisoner. Why ? 

5. I am like a lock. Why ? 

6. I am like a good boy. Why ? 

7. I am like the railroad from the sum- 
mit of Mount Washington. Why ? 

8. I am like a bankrupt's affairs. Why? 

9. I am like a runaway. Why ? 
10. I am like a carriage. Why ? 

Jack Straw. 
DOUBLE ACROSTIC CHARADE. 

No. 43. 
Carefully study the following words, 
And there you '11 find two well-known 
birds. 

1. When the day has changed to night, 
In the darkness I give light 

2. I 'm roaming about in the thinker's brain; 
For me he strives with might and main. 

3. The fallen leaves, the birds' long flight, 
All show that I am here with frosty 

night 

4. Now I 'm large, and now I 'm small, 
Ever obedient to your call. 

5. Over hill and grassy mound 
Hear my far-reverberated sound. 

6. On the wide sea dreadfully I roar ; 
The brave ship sinks to rise no more. 

Henry P. Day. 



1 88 



The Evening Lamp. 



[March. 



ILLUSTRATED R E B U S . — No. 44. — A Bouquet. 




WORD SQUARES. — No. 45. 

1. What money makes one feel. 

2. Unoccupied. 

3. A bivalve. 

4. A plant. 

Hugh Af. Clarke. 

No. 46. 

1. Chief commodity. 

2. Articles of furniture. 

3. Most capable. 

4. To delight. 

5. A party to a contract. 

6. High regard. 

G W. J. 



C. Clinton. 
ENIGMA. — No. 47. 
I am composed of 23 letters. 

My 16, 7, 17, 9, 12, a person does every 
day. 

My 23, 20, 8, 3, is a marine fish. 

My i8, 4, ii, is part of the body. 

My 23, 6, 14, 13, 8, is used in making 
whiskey. 

My 8, 7, 22, 9, is a bird. 

My i t 20, 4, 15, is an animal. 

My 19, 2, 10, 21, 17, 14, 5, 18, is a min- 
eral. 

My whole is one of " Poor Richard's 
Sayings." 

Harry. 



ANSWERS. 



17. Coming events cast their shadows before. 
KCornb in G) (E V ents) (ka's T) (T hare) (s hay 
do's) (B F o'er).] 

1 8. We went to an " Inn '* to fret dinner. The 
" Table " was covered with a " Black " cloth, and 
it was furnished with old and broken "China." 
When dinner was ready, the landlady, who looked 
like an " Amazon," made a noise with a " Big 
Horn." Then the " Cook " served a " Salmon fl 
which had too much " Spice " in it, and a " Pigeon " 
which savored too much of " Greece," which 
gave " Alexandria " a pain in the " Brest." We 
had some " Sandwich-es " made of " Ham," which 
were quite good ; we had also " Graham " bread : 
for "Desert," we had " Madeira" and " Orange." 
In the midst of our dinner, we were disturbed by 
a " Bug " running across the table. We then went 
to take a " Lookout " on " Stillwater," which was 
quite " Blue." As it was " Chili," I put on a 
••Nubia." "Adelaide" put on a "Tule" veil, 
fastened with a. " Ribbon," also a " Cashmere " 
shawl Then "Charles" began his "Flattery," 
and " Adelaide " declared that she would not be 



" Friendly " with him. Our " Peace " was much 
disturbed by the appearance of a strange " Man. " 
" Elizabeth " had a " Pearl " ring. I had a 
" French " bag made of " Morocco. In a littles 
while we went down to " Bowling Green." There 
we bade " Farewell." 

Hf. Band, hand, land, sand, wand. 

20. Why tip a pot o' mustard over? (White 
hippopotamus tarred over.) 

ax. Weigh, way ; where, ware : waist, waste. 

aa. John after eating Kate's steak takes a long 
stake and has a good skate. 

23. Lancers. 

*4- 



X 



DUKE a 5 . R E 
USED EL 
KEEN G L 
EDNA A I 
L E 


G A 
L I 
A D 
D E 
E D 


L 
K 
E 
D 
S 


Look before yon leap. 

Snowdrop. 

Canaan, Conn. (Cane on C em 

Buffalo. (BuFFAfrw.) 


N.) 






O l 



WHAT'S IN A NAME? 

tUR readers win observe that Mrs. Diax's full 
name — Abby Morton Diaz — \% signed to 
her article (** The Story of Florinda ") in the pres- 
ent number of oar magazine ; and we wish them 
to know the real Mrs. Diaz under that name in 
future. 

This change in the signature is made in con- 
sequence of the surprising conduct of the spurious 
Mrs. Diaz, which — as probably but few of our 
readers have seen the newspaper accounts of it — 
we will state briefly here. 

The real name of the unreal Mrs. Diaz is Dyce ; 
and it was no doubt the similarity in the two 
names as pronounced by many people that first 
saggested to her the brilliant idea of assuming to 
be the author of the famous " William Henry Let- 
ters." In this, however, her ignorance even of 
the correct pronunciation of her stolen name was 
exposed. She called herself, in speaking, Mrs. 
Dy'ax; while the name, which is Spanish (al- 
though she who rightfully bears it is American in 
every fibre), is properly pronounced' De'ax. We 
can imagine some reader of "Our Young Folks," 
on being introduced to the lady when she was 
plain Mrs. Dyce, exclaiming, delightedly, " Mrs. 
Diaz, the authoress?" or, "Are you related to 
Mrs. Diaz who writes the 'William Henry Let- 
ters ' ? " And we can imagine the lady saying to 
herself; " If I am not, I will be, for I see that 
name will be a passport to good society " ; and 
" Mrs. Diaz, the authoress," she became accord- 
ingly. 

Her first appearance in that character was in 
New London, Conn., a year ago last summer. 
She played her part remarkably well, and received 
a great many attentions from people who knew 
the author of " William Henry " by reputation, 
and delighted to honor her. Parties and serenades 
were given her, together with more substantial 
marks of esteem. In short, she " sponged " her 
living out of the good New London people, until, 
emboldened by success, she went to New York, to 
play the same part on a larger stage. 

There she introduced herself as a poor author- 
ess, always about to receive large sums from her 
publishers, but always in present want of assist- 
ance, which her dopes, believing her to be the 
real Mm. Diaz, were only too ready to render. She 



fleeced boarding-house and hotel keepers, — for 
of course she never paid her bills, — and deceived 
even some literary people, who, without doubting 
her genuineness, merely expressed their disappoint- 
ment on finding "so little to Mrs. Diaz." Mean- 
while persons who had made her acquaintance 
began to write to the real authoress, at Plymouth, 
Mass. ; and finally the latter received a formida- 
ble bill for board at Earle's Hotel, where she bad 
never been in her life, with an urgent request for 
a settlement 

Of course the lady she had been so shameless!) 
misrepresenting made haste to denounce the im- 
postor ; and Mrs. Dyce was arrested, in the midst 
of her astonishing career, and taken before a 
magistrate, on a charge of fraud. Owing to some 
defect in the law she was released, and she it 
again at large, — perhaps in some other city, rep- 
resenting some other literary personage. 

She is described as a person of agreeable man- 
ners, wonderfully pious when with pious people, 
with a blonde complexion, a sweet, low voice, and 
a persuasive tongue. She is certainly possessed 
of vast audacity, with a plentiful lack of modesty, — 
in which respect she is the very opposite of our 
Mrs. Diaz, who could never in her life have put 
forth claims to social distinctions and favors on 
the strength of her literary pretensions. 

This clever impostor was born of Irish parent- 
age, in Philadelphia, about forty years ago, and 
married to her husband, Dyce, — also of Irish 
blood, — in St Louis, about twenty years ago. 
Instead of earning a livelihood and acquiring true 
honors by an honest exercise of her talents, she 
prefers to gain a precarious existence by swin- 
dling. 

She seems to have invented a middle name for 
the initial M., in her assumed character, and to 
have chosen a romantic one, Medora, for so it got 
into the newspapers. And this reminds us of a 
curious error that occurred in the title-page of 
Mrs. Diaz's bright little story of " The King's 
Lily and Rosebud," where the first name of the 
writer is printed Annie. In justice to the real 
author of" William Henry," we now give her cor- 
rect name in connection with her writings, and 
assure our readers that, the world over, there is 
only one Abby Morton Diaz. 

Rutku M. — Pompeii is pronounced Pom-pa'ye. 



190 



Our Letter Box. 



[March, 



T. F. % Washington, D. C, sends ns the follow- 
ing original and exceedingly ingenious eolation 
of Anne Steward's celebrated riddle, — never be- 
fore solved, we believe, — which appeared in our 
" Letter Box " last December. We think our cor- 
respondent is fuHy entitled to the " 50 pounds re- 
ward." 

Many of our readers may need to be told that 
Worcester's definition of Altarage is: "An emol- 
ument of priests, arising from oblations through 
the means of the altar " ; and that he defines 
Alitragt as " the fostering of a child." 

I. 
Some " noble spirit " help me to "divine " 
The " corresponding word of ev'ry line," 
Through whose initial marks that city's name 
Shall reappear, of olden time and fame. 

II. 

Apollo Belvedere, I name, — "the noblest object 
in the woTldofart"; 

Light, fountain of life and power, — "the bright- 
est gem that nature can impart " : 

Evidence, weighty, more than law, — " the point 
essential in a lawyer's case " ; 

X, the Cross, for centuries upheld, — " the well- 
known signal in the time of peace " ; 

Agriculture, nature's subduer, — " the farmer's 
prompter when he drives the plough " ; 

Nuncupatory, not written, — " the soldier's duty 
and the lover's vow " • 

Daystar I bright Venus of the morn, — " the 
planet seen between the earth and sun " ; 

Redemption, God's free gift to man, — " the prize 
that merit never yet has won " ; 

Ingots of gol4 and silver are — " the miser's treas- 
ure and the badge of Jews " ; 

Alt'rage, — offspring and offerings, — " the wife's 
ambition and the parson's dues." 

III. 
Now, to your view, a city's name is shown, 
Ancient and great, and of no small renown, — 
On History's time-worn page, a glorious name. 
Preserving mighty Alexander's fame. 

In answer to Minnie Angell's request regarding 
the iEolian harp, " Reader " reminds us that the 
following good description of one appeared in 
"Our Letter Box" in November, 1868 : " Make 
a rectangular box of very thin deal, as long as the 
window in which it is placed is broad, about five 
inches deep and six inches wide. Over the upper 
surface of the box, which is pierced with sounding- 
holes, like the sounding-board of a fiddle, stretch 
several catgut or wire strings with a slight degree 
of tension, and the harp will be completed." It 
is the wind that sets the strings to vibrating. 

The question was also answered by Ada £. Tal- 



bot, and by Maud, who says: "The simple* 
iEolian harp is formed of several waxed strings, 
graduated in thickness, attached to pegs and fas- 
tened to the window." 

W« cheerfully give place to the following protest 
from an esteemed Young Contributor. Whatever 
may be " Bilboquet's " religious sentiments, we are 
sure that he would not willingly have offended 
those of another person. 

CAMDHN. N. J., January m, 1*73. 

Editors or " Our Young Folks " : — 

I hope you will allow me, as a Catholic and a 
person whom thirteen years' residence in Italy 
has perhaps qualified to have an opinion on the 
subject, to point out to my talented brother Young 
Contributor, "Bilboquet," an act of injustice 
which he has committed in his clever sketch enti- 
tled " Sacro Bambino." And first let me premise 
that I 'm not going to assert that the Bambino in 
question is gifted with miraculous powers. That 'a 
one of those things which Catholics themselves 
are at perfect liberty to believe or not as they 
choose. I 've not taken any pains to examine 
into the subject, and therefore am not competent 
to give an opinion. But I should certainly be 
strongly inclined to believe anything which has 
the sanction of such learned and pious men as the 
Italian priests ; for I *m not one of those who 
would reject a miracle merely on the grounds that 
it is a miracle. The logical sequence of that, it 
seems to me, would be the rejection of those men- 
tioned in the Scriptures. If it is absurd to believe 
in a miracle which happened in Anno Domini 
187a, why is it not absurd to believe in one which 
happened in Anno Domini 32 ? 

But I will waive that question, and go directly 
to the point. The injustice I complain of is his 
styling those learned and pious men "wily old 
priests." Now, even granting that the alleged 
miracles are untrue, does it follow that the priests 
are impostors? May not the physician be mis- 
taken as well as the patient? Why does n't your 
contributor lean to the more charitable view, par- 
ticularly when he might remember that priests 
don't grow spontaneously in Italy, but are part 
and parcel of the "poor superstitious people" 
who excite such generous compassion in his manly 
breast? 

Now, I was brought up among these men, knew 
many of them personally, and therefore had an 
unusually good opportunity of judging as to their 
characters, yet I can conscientiously say that I 
never met one who was n't as pure, as virtuous, as 
noble a creature as walks God's earth to-day. 
Many of them belong to rich and aristocratic*] 
families, and have been prompted by the spirit 
of the sublimest self-sacrifice to comply literally 
with the exhortation of our Lord to leave all and 
ollow him ; who have turned from a life of ease, 



J873-] 



Our Letter Box. 



191 



, and luxury, to embrace one of toO, pov- 
orty, and mortification. 

Let your contributor, then, apeak of them, if he 
will, with that benevolent contempt which a supe- 
rior order of beinga is privileged to use towards 
aa inferior ; but I beg of him, as a Christian and 
a gentleman, not to charge them with one of the 
vilest and dirtiest sfns which our fellen nature is 
capable o(, that of religious imposture. 

I have made this letter longer than I had in- 
tended when I first set out to write it ; but if you 
can find room for it, I shall esteem it as a very 
great favor. 

Very respectfully yours, 

Wm. S. Walsh. 

V. Jf. Guild reminds us that there is a chapter 
on Ventriloquism in Lee & Shepard's " Ameri- 
can Home Book of Games," etc N. A. G. 
Shepard, and others interested in the subject, will 
please take notice. 

A. S. L. — The peculiar privilege' enjoyed by a 
cadet at West Point is that he is maintained 
and educated at the expense of the government 
The course of instruction (four years) includes not 
only military tactics, aod the various details of the 
art of war, but literature, philosophy, French, 
mathematics, chemistry, civil engineering, miner- 
alogy, etc One cadet is appointed for each con- 
gressional district, by the member from that dis- 
trict, besides ten annually at large by the Presi- 
dent For further particulars apply to the member 
of Congress from your district 

Wilson S. Howell, in sending a very good list 
of answers to our last month's puzzles, asks: 
"What authority is there for saying that brass 
can be dug from the earth ? I have seen it sev- 
eral times in the Bible." 

To which we reply that by the word in the 
Bible (Deut viiL 9) translated brass, copper was 
probably meant 

He adds : " May I please have a place in " Our 
Letter Box" for these few questions, to be an- 
swered by subscribers ? 

1. Why are old maids called spinsters? 

a. Why do sailors call liquor grog ? 

3. Why is a sirloin so called ? 

4. How was tinted paper discovered ? 

Llewellyn. — It is not probable that we shall 
have any more " Round-the- World Joe" pa- 
pers, by the bright and racy " George Eager." 
The real name of the author we are not at liberty 
to give. 

CHARLr.STOWN. Ms., January 7, 1873. 

Dxa* •• Young Folks " : — 

I fear you will think me rather old to ask ques- 
tions of the "Young Folks," when I tell you I 
have children old enough to be very anxious each 
month for the time to come that brings with it I 



your fresh and beautiful magazine. And then, 
too, I take the " Atlantic Monthly," and most of 
the little folks would think that if I constantly 
read all the learned papers contained in that mag- 
azine I must be old ; but I really can't say which 
of the two publications I love best. This I am 
confident at, — I shall never grow too old to love 
the" Young Folks "1 

But I was going to ask you some questions, that 
I hope some of your correspondents will be able 
to answer. Who composed the music of " Sweet 
Home " and the " Last Rose of Sammer " ? We 
can all appreciate the simple and beautiful words 
of Payne and Moore ; but is not the universal 
fame these songs have, due in a great measure to 
their sweet melodies ? 

I enclose a little word puzzle that has caused 
considerable amusing perplexity at our home. 
Yours truly. 

Cousin Bob. 

Here ia the puzzle : If three cats kill three rats 
in three minutes, how many cats will it take to 
kill a hundred rats in a hundred minutes ? 

Our Young Contributors. •* Lost in the Woods" 
by Fern, and "One Saturday," by Harry T. 
Black, are accepted. 

The best article on our honorable mention list 
this month is " The Gamin 0/ Paris" by G. B., 
which is quite well written, but rather long, and 
not altogether adapted to the department of " Our 
Young Contributors." Following this, in the or- 
der of excellence, are "Nan's Christmas" by V. 
C. H. ; "Holidays," by Edith C. : "Anarchy in 
a Jewel-Case," by Bertie C. ; " The Old Oah," 
by Clara B.; " Voices of the School-Room," by 
Maude H.; "Bobby's Catastrophe," by Patty 
Penn ; " Our Bleah Forest Adventure," by J. F. 
R. ; "A Search in a Garret," by A. F. P. ; " An 
Excursion to the Mollson," by " Mademoiselle 
Mouse " ; and " Bertha's Joke," by C F. P. Of 
nearly all these the general remark may be made 
that the style of composition is more noteworthy 
than the interest of the subjects treated. 

In " The Reminiscences 0/ a Rustic," on the 
contrary, the subject is better than the style. The 
description of the boy's first experience in firing 
off a gun is quite amusing, and so is the account 
of the fastidious city cousin's elegant shirt carried 
off by a calf, whilst he was enjoying a bath in the 
river. The animal was beginning to chew it, when 
at the sight " Ed rushed out of the water, picked 
up stones, and furiously attacked the enemy. It 
waa one of the most comical sights I ever wit- 
nessed, to see our city cousin, a most proper lad, 
running about the prairies stark naked, and yelling 
like an Indian, chasing a steer, from whose mouth 
protruded a white shirt, which every now and 
then flaunted in the breeze like an ensign of vic- 
tory." 



192 



Our Letter Box. 



[March. 



"A* Adventure with « Snake" and "My 
Inquisitive Friend," by W. H. H., are not with- 
out literary merit, bat they would have been bet- 
ter if written in a more direct and Jew elaborate 
style. 

We have on our Hat two or three little poems 
by very young contributors, which would have 
been accepted this month if we had not already 
as many poems on hand as we can use in several 
numbers. " I vie " (age 13) gives us this pretty 
picture in a piece entitled "A Glance Down- 
wards " : — 

" Leaning over the boatside, 
What do you think we spy, 
As we sit gaxmg downwards, 
Mabel, Harry, and I? 

" Tiny gardens of seaweed. 

Waving their feathery anna ; 
Glittering rosy coral, 
Hiding its untold charms ; 

" Leaves with dear-cut outline ; 
Mosses gracefully curled ; 
Mysteries deep and unfathomable, 
Down in this fairy world." 
And here are some bright glimpses of " The 
Snow," by Ellie V. Talbot (same age) : — 
" The wind is cold, the douds are gray, 
The sun shines not : 't will snow to-day. 
A little snow-bird now I see, 
Sitting forlorn upon a tree. 
• Poor little bird, what will you do? 

How will you brave the long storm through ? 
. Come in, — I have a nice warm room ; 
You need not sit there in the gloom. 
Ah ! here 's a snow-flake, —one, two, three. 
Fluttering down so silently I 
One, two, three, four, 
Yes, more and more, 
Floating, flying, 
Dropping, dying, 
On the ground below. .... 

** Snowy wreaths of silvery spray 

Hang on the boughs like leaves in May 

Each little stem 
Holds up its gem 
So silver white, 
So feather light I" 

" Spring Time" by Annabel V. Duvarny (age 
11), is equally creditable, considering the years 
of the writer. 

Philadelphia, January *e, 1873. 
Drar "Young Folks": — 

I will try to answer one of your questions. The 

reason why a fire will not burn as readily in a cold 

1 grate as in a warm one is this: In a cold grate 

1 much of the heat of the fire is taken away to warm 

■ the iron, thereby really crippling it. This may be 



regarded as a foolish answer, but I think it is cor- 
rect. I have seen a strong gaslight suddenly ex- 
tinguished by inserting a piece of cold steel in the 
flame. It conducted the heat away so rapidly as 
to totally extinguish it It is not right to let a 
fire have loo much cold air, either, except it come 
in a good draft. Pertaining to the same subject, 
I believe that several of the blast furnaces in 
Pennsylvania use heated air for the blast. Aa 1 
understand it, oxygen is as easily abstracted from 
warm as from cold air, but cold air wastes much 
of the heat of the fire in heating itsd£ 
Respectfully, 

S. E. M. 
£. IV. writes that there is a translation of Ma- 
dame de Pressensi'a "Rosa." It is by Mrs. 
Fletcher, published by the Harpers. G. J. % Jr., 
says there is a translation published by the Pres- 
byterian Board of Publication, Phila. 

The best answers to our geographical puzzle 
(No. 18) were received from Lottie and Harry 
Carryl, Philip W. Crannell, Ivy, W. Foster, Sallie 
P. Ackley, Callie G. Quint, Belle E. Bradley, 
Lizzie Grubb, Babette and Annie, " Four Sincere 
Admirers," Marie Louise, Pigmy, Lena R. Brack- 
ett, and Susie A. Murray., 
' The prise rebus and several other puzzles were 
answered by Caroline F. NeaL 

Other early answers to our last month's puzzles 
were sent in by "Tribune," Kate Hamilton, 
Minnie Thomas, W. A. Howell, Hattie J. Brig- 
ham, Rosabel, Mary Bushndl, Ruthie M., Allie 
and Lou, Susie C. Keniston, A. B. H., Josie and 
Lillie Townsend, F. May Lyon, Willey L. Cris- 
sey, and A. P. Folwell (age 8). 

Hkrs are our answers to Jack Straw's unan- 
swered riddle, given last month ; — 
My first is a letter ; 
My second a word ; 
My third is a beast ; 
My whole is a bird. 

"Killdeer" (k-ill-deer) and "Titmouse" (t-it- 
mouse). One species of titmouse is the common 
chickadee : the killdeer is the little beach-bird 
(a spedes of plover), so called from its peculiar 
note. " Titmouse " is also given as an answer by 
Wilson S. Howell, "Tom Twist," and Babette 
and Annie. 

" Sigh for nothing, owe nothing " (cipher noth- 
ing, O nothing) is the interpretation of the rule 
of conduct with which we closed last month's 
" Letter Box " ; guessed by Caroline F. Neal, 
Lottie, Babette and Annie, Edith C Coursen, and 
others. 

Erratum. — In the story of" Clarence Shank's 
Adventure," in our February number, the name 
of the town "Owego" (in Tioga Co., N. Y^ was 
misprinted ' Oswego." 



Messrs. JAMES B. OSGOOD & OO.'S 

NEW BOOKS IN PRESS. 



Palssetto Leaves. By Mas. Habbist Buchxi Stowb. Illustrated, 



Enigma* of Ufe« By W. B. Gbso. 



The Other Girls. Br Mrs. A. D. T Whitxbt. A Companion Volume to " We 
Gills," " Beal Folks/' etc 

' A Chance Aeelualatance. By William D. Howblls. ElnttratecL 



Americas Te*t-Boek of Art Education. By Waltbb Smith. 



The Kaballah of the Ancient Egyptians. By Gxo. H. Fblt. 



TEE WORKS OF JULES VERJfE: 
The Adventures of Cant. Hatteras. Illustrated. 
Five Weeks In n Balloon. Illustrated, 



The Land of the Furs. Illustrated. 



Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea*. (New Edition.) 



Among tlte Isles of Shoals. By Cbua Thaxtbb. 



A New Poem. By Batabd Tatlob. 



Musle-llall Sermons. A New Volume, by W. H. H. Mubbat. 



IN OSGOOD'S LIBRARY OF NOVELS 
Hot Easily Jealous. 

Writings or Ekilb Gabobiau, as follows: 
The Lerouge Aftlalr. 

The Slaves of Paris. 

The Mystery of Orclvnl. 



Infernal Life. 
Monsieur Lecoa. 
File Ho. 118. 



j 

1 Complete Poetical Works of Bret Harte. Diamond Edition. 



i Gothic FomM, Applied to Furniture, Decorations, etc. By B. J. Talbbbt. A mag. 
nificent architectural and decorative work, reproduced by the Heliotype process. 



Continuation of the Library Editions of Hawthorne and De 
Qulncey. 

124 TREMONT STREET, BOSTON. 



CONTENTS. 

Pag. 

Doing his Best 7. T. Trowbridge ... 193 

Chap. X. Jack's Good Fortune. 
•* XI. The Adventure at the Village Tavern. 
" XII. The Best-Naturrd Man in the World. 
( With an Illustration.) 

Tea Leaves (Poem) Constance H. North . . 203 

Uncle Joe's "Little Samaritan". . . . Mrs. Ably Morton Diaz . 204 

< With a full-page Illustration.) 

In a Rag-Bag Nora Perry 209 

u Dot's Party" Sam Eytinge .... 213 

The New Suit of Clothes 216 

{With six Illustrations.) 

The Day op Judgment Elizabeth Stuart Phelps . 222 

When ? (Poem) Mary N Prescott ... 227 

A Talk about the Telegraph N. A. Eliot 228 

{With six Illustrations.) 

The Sleepy Little Sister (Poem) . . . Georgiana McNeil . . . 237 

Nannie's Experience Sarah G. Duley .... 238 

Our Young Contributors .242 

What the Fairy told me. By Marion Starr. 

Our Printing-office in the Woods. By .S. Hayfora\ Jr. 

A Day's Blue- Fishing. By A. W. S. 

My Ship (Poem). By Alice Mauds. 

Baby 's waking up. By Daisy. 

Our Royal Highnesses. By Wm. S. Walsh. 

The Evening Lamp 249 

Containing Riddle, Enigmas, Word Squares, Illustrated Rebus, Metagram, Carious Compar- 
isons, Names of Birds, Buried Towns, Geographical Rebus, Answers, etc 

Our Letter Box 252 

Containing Letters from Correspondents and Answers, etc 

THE MAY NUMBER 

Will contain three chapters of " Doing his Best," describing Jack's visit to Annie Fcl- 
ton's, the comical close of Master Dinks's school, and the curious adventure of a travel- 
ling phrenologist ; " A Talk about Electrotyping," by our new contributor, N. A. Eliot ; 
** The Calico Paper," an amusing girls' story, by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps ; " The Sec- 
ond Mate's Twister," one of Uncle Blue Jacket's yarns, by W. M. McEntce ; " Pandora," 
a mythological story, by J. W. P. ; and a variety of other interesting articles. 



TO SUBSCRIBERS. 

|3f Every letter on business relating to " Our Young Folks " should have the name of the St job a* 
well as the Post-Office from which it comes. 

Persons ordering a change in direction of magazines should always give both the old and the new address 
in full. And notice of the desired change should be given before the Stk of any month, in order that 
magazines tor the following month may bear the proper direction. 

TERMS. —The price of Our Young Folks is $a.oo per year. No dab terms. An extra copy grata 
for every five subscription*. Our Young Folks and Atlantic Monthly, $ 5.00 per year. 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, Publishers, 
Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co., 

124 Tremont Street^ Boston. 




SEWING THE CRADLE-QUILT. 

[See "Uncle Joe's Little Samaritan." 



OUR YOUNG FOLKS. 

An Illustrated Magazine 
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 



Vol. IX. 



APRIL, 1873. 



No. IV. 



1, 



DOING HIS BEST. 

CHAPTER X. f 

jack's good fortune. 

' EARS of joy and gratitude sprang to Jack's eyes, 
and he poured forth the whole story of his troubles 
in school, as it is known to the reader. It was 
warmly corroborated by Moses and Kate, and less 
willingly by Phineas. 

" Good for you, Jack ! " exclaimed Mrs. Pipkin, 
over her work by the table. " I 'm glad you 
whipped the Gannett boy, and I '11 mend your 
clothes for you. I 'm glad you come up with the mas- 
ter ; and I hope he '11 get turned out of school." 

"There are always two sides to a story," said the 
deacon, warily. 

" O uncle ! " said Annie Felton, " you must acknowl- 
edge that Jack has done as nearly right as ever a spir- 
ited boy of his age could be expected to do under such 
circumstances." t 

" I did n't know you approved of fighting," said Phin- 
eas, with a grin of malice and envy, — for he never could 
bear to hear Jack praised. 

" I 'm ashamed of that brother of mine ! " exclaimed 
Moses, in great disgust " To fling out about Jack's fighting, as I 've heard 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Jambs R. Osgood & Co., in the Office 
of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
VOI~ IX. — NO. rv. 13 




194 Doing his Best [April, 

him do half a dozen times, when 't was by defending him that Jack got into 
trouble at last ! " 

" I don't approve of fighting," said Annie ; " and it 's awful to think of 
our Jack's pounding heads and pulling hair with that Gannett boy ! Of 
course I wish he had had character enough to get along, and take care 
of himself and the smaller and more timid boys, without striking a blow. 1 ' 

" O, I was n't timid ! " said Phineas ; " but our folks have always told 
me not to fight, and I remembered that." 

" It 's the lad's principles," said Forrest, in his dry way. " No doubt 
lie 'd be a perfect lion among the boys, if his pa and ma had n't taught him 
that * little children should not let their angry passions rise.' " 

" We 've interrupted Annie," said tyfoses. " I 'd like to hear what she 
was going to say, — for instance, about this very affair of Jack's. I suppose 
if he had been as wise and cool and strong-minded as maybe we can imagine 
a boy to be, but as no boy that I know is, then he might have done what 
he undertook without fighting. But for my part, I can't always do it, old 
as I am ; and I 'm ashamed to say I 've stood by and seen the little fellows 
imposed upon by the big ones, when I ought to have stopped it, but did n't, 
because I was afraid of getting myself into a scrape. Now, what should a 
fellow do ? " 

" Do what Jack did, I say ! " cried Forrest. " Whatever we may preach, 
we all think better of him to-night for thrashing the Gannett chap and pitch- 
ing into the schoolmaster. Annie agrees with me, I know she does ; and 
so does Uncle Chatford." 

" Fie, fie ! " said the deacon, frowning to cover a smile, while he fidgeted 
uneasily in his chair. 

" No," Annie hastened to say, " I don't counsel boys to fight But I am 
glad " — and her eyes beamed beautifully on Jack — " that our dear boy 
here has so much will and spirit. They will prove splendid qualities in his 
character ; but he must learn to control them." 

" It 's bad ! it 's bad every way ! " said the deacon. " Say nothing about 
the discipline of the school — " 

" That, it seems, can't be much worse than it was before," Forrest sug- 
gested. 

" Well, I don't claim that we have the best master that ever was. But a 
poor school is better than none ; and now Jack is without any." 

"I've thought" — Jack hesitated — " that I might — perhaps you could 
arrange it so I could go over to the Basin ; they 've a good school there." 

"Just what I thought you would want to do ; but," said the deacon, " I 
set my foot down against that at once ! We won't have the unruly boys 
from the Basin, after they 're turned out there, coming over to our school ; 
and I sha' n't favor any from our district going over there." 

" Then," said Annie, seeing how crestfallen Jack looked, " I see but one 
thing for you to do, in order not to lose your schooling." 

" What is that ?" he asked, eagerly. 

Forrest spoke for his sister : — 



1 873] Doing his Best. 195 

" Go home with us to-morrow. We can get you into our school." 

" And live with you ? " cried Jack, in delighted astonishment. 

" Of course," said Annie ; " Forrest and I have been talking it over." 

"That would never answer," interposed Mrs. Chatford. "You have 
nothing for Jack to do ; he could n't work to pay for his board, as he does 
here." 

" And besides," added the deacon, " there may be a change, — it is just 
possible Mr. Dinks may resign." 

" Or get turned out," struck in Moses. " I should n't wonder 1 " 

" Very well," said Annie ; " Jack has been promised a visit to our house 
for a long time. He shall go home with us, and while we are waiting to 
see what he had better do, I 'U give him private lessons, so that he shall 
not fell behind in his studies. What do you say to that, Jack ? " 

" Oh ! " was all the overjoyed youngster could articulate,, before Phineas 
put in, " Now, I say that ain't fair ! If anybody goes home with you to 
make a visit, I 'm going ! Jack, ain't your relation ! why should you think 
so much of him ? " 

"If liking went with relationship," laughed Forrest, "dear Phineas, how 
we should adore you ! As it is, we don't object to your making us as long 
a visit as your folks will allow at any other time. But this time Jack is 
going. That is, if he agrees to it" 

" Oh ! " Jack said again, his heart almost too full for words. " It is too 
much ! If Mr. Chatford will let me ! " 

" I don't know," said the deacon, trying to conceal his satisfaction at the 
boy's good fortune. " I don't like to have you give up your studies just 
now ; and Annie is very kind ; — yes, I suppose I shall let you go, though 
I must say it looks to me very much like a premium for pitching into the 
master ! Phineas, see who 's at the door." 

The sound of a foot on the scraper was followed by a knock ; and as Phin 
stood in the entry, holding the door open, a young man stamped the snow 
from his feet, and walked in. He had a rather short, stocky figure, and his 
bn 'ght> genial face was slightly pock-marked. 

" Percy Lanman ! " cried the deacon. " Walk along ! Here 's somebody 
you know, — our niece, Annie. And somebody you don't know, — her 
brother Forrest" 

"Yes, I've met him too," said Percy, shaking hands all round. "In 
one of my excursions I got as far as their house. " Ah, Jack, how are 
you?" 

Jack was very well, and of course delighted to see his friend, — for he 
felt himself under peculiar obligations to this young man. Yet he thought 
it strange that Percy should have paid a visit to the Feltons without the 
Chatfords even hearing of it; and stranger still, perhaps, that he should 
happen to drop in this very evening, to call on the family, for the first time 
since Annie closed her summer school. 

The circumstance puzzled Jack a good deal ; and after he got to bed that 
night he lay thinking of it, and of the day's adventures, and of to-morrow's 



196 Doing his Best [April, 

journey, until his mind floated off in a dream in which a thousand things 
mingled confusedly together. Now he was running out of the school-house 
carrying the master's leg, which he had pulled off in a scuffle. Then Con- 
stable Sellick was chasing him, and calling upon him to " stop thief! " Then 
he was taken before Judge Garty, and Master Dinks appeared on two good 
legs of his own to swear to the missing member. The Judge entered into 
an argument to show that if Jack regarded it as "booty," he was guilty, but 
that if he claimed it as a " leg-acy " he was innocent ; which was cut short 
by Jack's running out of court, and riding off in a cutter with Annie Felton. 
Then he was not riding, but walking along a lonely road, crying bitterly, 
while Annie rode gayly on before with Percy Lanman. They stopped for 
him, but he wanted to ask his dog Lion what he was burying ; and just as 
Lion answered, " Squire Peternot's lame leg," he awoke. 



CHAPTER XL 

THE ADVENTURE AT THE VILLAGE TAVERN. 

In the afternoon of the next day Forrest and Annie Felton set out to 
return home, taking Jack with them. The good-byes were said while the 
sleigh stood at the door. 

" We shall miss ye 'bout the chores, Jack," said Mr. Pipkin, handing the 
reins to Forrest, then pulling up the buffalo-robe over the travellers. 

" I would n't be in a hurry to get into a school over there, boy," was the 
deacon's last word, "for — between ourselves — I think there '11 be a change 
here soon. Say nothing about it," he whispered ; " but it 's my impression 
there 'U be a change." 

Mrs. Chatford kissed him as if he had been her own son ; and Jack cried, 
" Good by, all ! Good by, Lion ! Get down, you fellow ! what are you 
thinking about ? " 

" O, do let him go too ! " said Annie. " Why not ? He saved my life 
once, you know ; and mother will be so glad to see him ! " 

" To be sure ! " cried Forrest. " Jack and Lion are one. We can't think 
of inviting the boy without the dog." 

Lion looked as if he understood every word of this conversation, and his 
tail wagged with joy. 

Nothing else was wanting to complete Jack's happiness; and he said, 
with an inquiring look, "If the folks are willing?" Mrs. Chatford said, 
" Why, yes, if Annie wishes it, — though Phineas will be more vexed than 
ever when he finds Lion gone too." 

The deacon also consented, although he regarded Lion as " one of the 
family " ; while Mrs. Pipkin declared, " You 're very welcome, for my part ! 
You '11 find that dog eats as much as a man ; and when you 've stepped over 
and around him, lying by the fire, as many times as I have, you '11 be easily 
consoled for the loss of him." 

" Her heart is better than her tongue," said Jack, as they rode away. 



1 873.] Doing his Best. 197 

* She thinks as much of Lion as any of us, and you should hear her stand 
up for him when he is abused by anybody else ! " 

"There's your school-house," said Forrest, as they approached that 
cracked temple of learning. "Don't you want to stop and bid Master 
Dinks good by?" 

" I 'm afraid the interview would be too affecting ! " said Jack. " I 've 
shed tears enough, parting with him once." 

" Do you think you can bear the separation ? " asked Forrest 

" I .don't think it will break my heart," replied Jack. 

As he spoke, they turned the corner ; and just at that moment a chorus 
of shouts and a wild troop of boys burst out of the school-house. The door 
was open when the sleigh passed ; and, looking in, Jack could see Master 
Dinks, ruler in hand, walking across the room. As the travellers had 
already said good by to Moses and Phineas, they were not going to stop ; 
but Phin came running after them. 

" You sha' n't take Lion ! " And the exasperated youth, throwing his arms 
about the dog's neck, endeavored to hold him. 

" There 's Lon Gannett, the fellow I fought, scowling there by the wood- 
pile. He has got one black eye, any way ! " said Jack. 

He was quite willing the boys should see him riding away with such 
companions ; and, cracking the whip, which Forrest had intrusted to him, 
he called, " Come, Lion ! " The dog gave a bound, and ran after the sleigh, 
leaving poor Phineas tumbled in the snow. 

The weather was fine, the sleighing excellent, and Jack, sitting by Annie's 
side, wrapped up in the same bufialo-robe, while Forrest, in a buffalo-skin 
suit of his own, sat on the movable seat before them, — following the jingling 
sleigh-bells, while Lion trotted behind, — was just then the happiest boy 
in the world.' The day was one of the shortest of the year, and the early 
winter night began to close in upon them some time before the end of their 
journey was reached. As they were passing through a village, Forrest said, 
u I '11 leave you at the tavern, while I look up a man I want to see." 

As they stopped at the door of the public house, Jack asked, " What will 
you do with the horse, — take him with you ? " 

" No, put him under the shed. He will be all right with the blanket 
thrown over him. I shall be back in about half an hour." Jack offered to 
take care of the horse. "Very well. Be sure and hitch him fast," said 
Forrest, "or he may get home before us." 

So, while he went off on business, and Annie seated herself by the parlor 
fire, Jack took the horse to the shed Having hitched and blanketed him, 
he called Lion. 

" Here, poor fellow I are you cold too ? Come in and warm your nose." 
And he returned to the tavern, followed by the dog. 

As he went in he noticed, on the steps, the figure of a man who had been 
standing there when he parted from Forrest Felton. He stood with his 
hands in his pockets, and was humming a careless air, when lion began to 
snuff and growL 



198 Doing his Best [April, 

" Quit ! " said Jack, cuffing the dog, to teach him better manners. " Go 
in there ! " 

" Good evening," said the man, in a wonderfully friendly voice. " About 
how fur do ye make it to Harte's Mills ? " 

"It may be three miles," answered Jack. " We passed there about half 
an hour ago." 

" Thank ye, sir ! Cool evenin'." And, still with his hands in his pockets, 
beginning to hum again, the polite stranger sauntered slowly away. 

Jack and Lion entered the parlor where Miss Felton was waiting. No 
sooner, however, was Lion in the room than he wanted to get out again. 

" He knows he has no business here," suggested Annie. " You had better 
take him to the bar-room." 

So Jack took Lion to the bar-room, and tried to make him lie down in the 
chimney-corner. The dog was still uneasy, and his master had to cuff his 
ears once more to make him mind. " Now, lie there ! don't you stir till I 
tell you to!" 

Jack returned to the parlor, where he had been seated with Annie by the 
fire not more than five minutes, wher^the barkeeper burst in. 

" You 'd better come out and see to your dog ! " 

" What 'a* the matter with my dog ?" cried Jack, jumping to his feet 

" You 'U see \ I believe he has killed.a man ! " 

Jack, in great alarm, sprang to the bar-room in advance of the messenger ; 
but no dog, and no man, was there. The place, which had held half a dozen 
loungers five minutes before, was empty. As he stood looking around in 
no little fright and bewilderment, a sound of excited voices came to his ear 
through the outer door, which was open, and out he ran to the shed. There 
he came suddenly upon a group of spectators, half illumined by the rays 
of a lantern. 

" The man y s all right, and the dog 's all right ! " somebody was saying in 
a loud voice. " Let 'em alone ! " 

" For mercy's sake, friends, help ! " pleaded another voice, which seemed 
to come from a distant corner. At the same time a dog's growls were audi- 
ble. 

Jack rushed in, and saw by the light of the lantern a man clinging to the 
empty manger, while Lion was clinging to him. 

" Here 's the boy ! Is this your dog ? " cried two or three voices. 

" Yes ! but where — where 's the horse and cutter ? " 

" There 's no hoss and cutter, sure enough," said the barkeeper. " Here 's 
the blanket on the ground. Have ye seen the hoss, Jim ? " 

" No," said the man with the lantern. " I was in the barn lookin' after 
my hosses, when I heard a row and run around here and found this 'ere 
dog a tacklin' the man. I believe I did see a hoss V cutter jest goin' up 
the street. Might 'a' been yourn." 

" It was ! " cried Jack. 

" That 's it ! I thought the feller was stealin' suthin'." 

" Take him off! " said the man by the manger. " I 'U explain ! " 



1 873.] Doing his Best 199 

Jack made haste to pull Lion away, which was no easy matter; when, 
behold ! the man, stepping forth in the full light of the lantern, turned out 
to be the same polite stranger he had met on the steps. 

" So you did n't keep on to Harte's Mills ! " exclaimed Jack. 

" No/' said the man, brushing his clothes. " I wish I had ! This is what 
I get for trying to do a man a service ! I heard a noise under the shed 
here, and saw the hoss you had just hitched backing out. I sprung to stop 
him, when this dog stopped me ! " 

" He stopped you at the right time ! " said Jack. " Hold the thief, some 
of you ! I '11 chase the horse. Come, Lion ! " 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE BEST-NATURED MAN IN THE WORLD. 

The boy and the dog had run but a little way in pursuit of the missing 
horse and cutter, when they met a sleigh coming. Jack stood in the snow 
on the side of the road, and waited to hail the driver as he passed. 

" Have you seen — " he began ; when the driver, pulling rein, exclaimed, 
41 That you, Jack ! You 're a smart fellow to take care of a horse ! I told 
you he would be in a hurry to get home, if he had the chance. By good 
luck he was stopped out here, or we should be in a pretty predicament ! " 

"All right!" cried Jack, breathlessly, tumbling into the sleigh. "It's 
all owing to Lion ! " 

" That the horse got away ? " said Forrest. 

" No, — that the thief that was stealing him got caught." And Jack hur- 
riedly told what had happened. " The man had unhitched him, and backed 
the cutter around, and was just getting into it, I suppose, when Lion grabbed 
him." The halter had, in fact, been found tied into one of the rings of the 
harness, — a circumstance which did not tend to corroborate the man's 
story. 

" Forgive me for blaming you, Jack," said Forrest, frankly. " I confess, 
when I found the horse had got away, I was vexed." 

" I don't wonder ! " said Jack. " The fellow must have heard what you 
said when you left me, for he was standing on the steps. There he is ! 
they 're taking him into the bar-room ! " 

Forrest gave the reins to the hostler, and, jumping from the sleigh, ran 
into the tavern, followed by Jack and Lion. 

"That's the knowin'est dog ever I see!" the bar-tender was saying to 
the excited bystanders. " The boy made him lay down in the corner, but 
he was uneasy, — he knew suthin' was n't right ; he got up and scratched 
and whined at the door, and I let him out. Next minute we heard the hol- 
lerin'. Don't appear 't he bit the man, either ; only tore his clo'es a little." 

The man, in the mean while, was protesting his innocence, and enlarging 
upon the story he had already told, adding many plausible details. He was 
a person about forty years of age, rather seedy in his attire, and with a great 



20O 



Doing his Best. 



[April, 




" Take him off I " 

rent in the lapel of his overcoat, where Lion had seized him. He had a 
thin, shrewd face, and a persuasive smile which reminded Jack of somebody 
he had seen. 

" If you just took hold of the horse to lead him back where he had been 
hitched,' 1 said Forrest, " how happens it that his halter-strap is found tied 
in the ring ? " 

"It was under his feet," replied the man, glibly, "and I slipped it through 
the ring before I thought much about it. I may have taken a knot in it, 
from habit, — I don't' remember ; it would have been like me ; I am used 
to hosses. I was leadin' him back with my hand on the bridle, when the 
dog flew at me. I 've often declared I never would go out of my way to 
do another man a service ; for this is just the way of it." The fellow looked 
ruefully at his torn garment. " But I suppose I shall do just so again, for 
I 'm too good-natered altogether. I never can learn a lesson. Only a few 
days ago, as I was goin' down Broadway, I saw a hat a comin 1 towards me, 
before a high wind, chased by a bareheaded cove, who did n't seem likely 
to ketch it. Of course I sprung to stop it for him, for I 'm the best-natered 
man in the world ; but in stoopin' for it I lost my own, and away it went 
in the wind. That was a fix. Bareheaded cove comin* — slow; my hat 
goin' — fast. I could n't put down his hat again, could I ? and if I waited to 
give it to him, what would become of mine ? So I hild his hat in my hand 



1 873.] Doing his Best 201 

while I chased mine. For what else could I do ? I put it to you, gentle- 
men, what else?" repeated the man, with the most candid and innocent 
air, as if he had been addressing a jury. 

Somebody replying that, according to his own account of the affair, it 
seemed a very natural thing to do, he smiled his thanks for the concession, 
and proceeded: "To be sure! the most nafral thing. But what was the 
result ? Bareheaded cove abused me for runnin' off with his hat ! accused me 
of meanin' to steal it ! Whereas I was as guiltless of any designs upon his 
property as I am of wishin' to steal this gentleman's hoss and sleigh. I 
ought to have let his hat slide ; that 's the truth about it. I ought n't to 
have interfered with the hoss's runnin' away ; I own everything. I have a 
fault, gentlemen ; incurable, I 'm afraid. I 'm too good-natered by half." 

" What is your name ? " demanded Forrest 

"Wilkins; John Wilkins, all the world over; Good-natered John Wil- 
kins, if you please ; for that 's my name, and that 's my nater." 

" Well, Mr. Wilkins," said Forrest, " here 's half a dollar to get your coat 
mended with. And let me give you a piece of advice, — don't be quite so 
good-natered in future. Your manner of stopping runaway hats and horses 
is liable to be misunderstood I would also strongly advise you to leave 
this part of the country at your earliest convenience ; for I will frankly say, 
men of your disposition are not appreciated here." 

" Thanks," said Good-natured John Wilkins, with his blandest smile, glan- 
cing at the money as he put it in his pocket. 

" Be these your cards ? " said the hostler, coming in with his lantern. " I 
found 'em under the shed." 

" I think they are my property. Thanks ! I had a pack about me. Nice 
for a winter evening, — a pleasant amusement for good-natered people, when 
fortune throws 'em together and night overtakes 'em at a village tavern. 
Whist, high-low, poker, — almost anything to accommodate ye, gentlemen, 
if ye like to take a hand. I 'm the best-natered man in the world ! " 

There seemed to be, however, a prejudice existing against Mr. Wilkins 
in the minds of the company ; and, seeing that his proposal was not likely 
to prove popular, he asked if there was a tailor near who could be got to 
mend his coat He was starting to find one, as directed, when Lion, growl- 
ing fiercely, sprang after him. 

" Call back your dog ! " cried he, giving signs of fear. Jack collared Lion. 
"Strange he should take such a dislike to me!" added Wilkins, with a 
sickly smile on his pale face, which once more reminded the boy of some- 
body or something. 

" He did n't like you when he first saw you on the steps," said Jack. 

" True ; and that shows," Wilkin* explained, in his most plausible man- 
ner, "that it was n't my mistake with the hoss that excited him ag'inst me." 

" I believe he has seen you before," answered Jack ; " and I 'm not sure 
but that I have ! " 

"Very likely; try to remember; I should be happy to find in you an 
old friend! Name?" 



202 Doing his Best. [April, 

" Hazard ; Jack Hazard, all the world over/' laughed Jack, as he parodied 
the man's words. 

" Hazard ; Jack Hazard ! " Wilkins touched his forehead. " The name 
finds no response in my memory. And I don't remember your face, though 
I may have seen the dog. A friend of mine had such a dog once." 

" Was his name Peternot ?" inquired Jack, eagerly. 

"Peternot was his .name, — Paul Peternot; a wild fellow, but good- 
natered. I love good-natered folks, and so I loved Paul, with all his faults. 
Did you know Paul ? " 

" I knew of him ! His father is old Squire Peternot Paul got into bad 
habits, ran away from "home, became a gambler and a drunkard, — set his 
bed afire one night, and was burned to death, at Wiley's Basin. His dog 
was dreadfully scorched, trying to get him out of his room. I found the 
poor fellow afterwards, took care of him, and have had him ever since." 

" This, then, is the dog ! " said Wilkins, nervously. " That accounts for 
his dislike of me. I — I quarrelled with Paul once ; for the best friends 
will quarrel sometimes, 'specially where one is addicted to bad habits, as 
Paul was." 

" Were you with him at Wiley's Basin ? " Jack demanded, looking Wil- 
kins full in the face. 

" I met him at Wiley's Basin, after I had been some time separated from 
him," replied Wilkins, rather hesitatingly. " He invited me to drink a glass 
and play a game, and I was — I own the fault — too good-natered to refuse. 
But when I saw him inclined to go to excess,* I remonstrated, — I tried to 
prevent him ; he grew violent, and his dog seized me by the leg. I then 
left him, and never saw him afterwards ; for that very night the unfortunate 
affair occurred. Ah," said Good-natured John Wilkins, with a sigh, "if 
Paul would only have listened to me ! " 

He then withdrew, expressing a hope that he might meet Jack again after 
he had paid a visit to the tailor. 

And now Forrest Felton, who had been in the parlor with his sister 
during this conversation, returned to the 1 bar-room. 

" Has the rascal gone ? " he asked. 

" Yes," said the bar-tender. " Why did you give him money ? Did you 
believe his story ? " 

" Not a word of it," replied Forrest. " But I had my reasons. Come, 
Jack ; we must be moving on now." 

Soon the travellers were once more on their way ; and you may be sure 
that in their lively discussion of the evening's adventure Lion's singular 
part in it was duly admired and praised. It had been Forrest's opinion at 
first that the dog's uneasiness in the tavern was occasioned by an instinctive 
knowledge that Wilkins intended to steal the horse ; but after Jack related 
what he had learned about the man, all agreed that Lion must have been 
actuated by some old grudge against the friend of his former master. 

y. T. Trowbridge. 



1873.] Tea Leaves. 203 



TEA LEAVES. 

IN the " Central Flowery Land," 
In the mountains of Shan Tong, 
In a bamboo hut, 'neath the tamarisks, 
Dwelt the hermit, Hien-fong. 

And he vowed to the Dragon Lung, 
The Dragon who rules the skies, 

That three full moons should come and go 
Ere he would close his eyes. 

For the broad rice-fields were parched; 

'T was the season of much heat ; 
And over the yellow grass-plains 

The flames rushed, wild and fleet. 

And Famine, that hungry tiger, 

Was crouching near at hand; 
And therefore he vowed he would not sleep 

Till the terror had left the land. 

The hours walk slow as a mandarin - r 

One moon is scarcely gone, 
Yet the Hermit's drowsy lids will fall, — 

He sleeps until the dawn. 

Then starting up, ashamed that he 

Should be so faithless found, 
He cut off his traitorous eyelids, 

And threw them on the ground. 

Silently as flowers unfold 

The bright hours go their round, 

While Hien-fong, for shame and pain, 
Lies writhing on the ground. 

They come and go, and now at length, 
In the clear and pale moonlight, 

He lifts his head, he sits erect, 
He sees a wondrous sight! 

In the spot where the lids had lain, 

A stately shrub is seen, 
With sturdy stenvand glossy leaves 

Of the deepest, darkest green 1 



204 Uncle Joe's u Little Samaritan! 9 [April, 

Its leaves are shaped like eyelids, 

Fringed as with lashes are they; 
And 't is said they possess a magical power 

Of keeping sleep away ! 

Constance //. North. 



UNCLE JOE'S "LITTLE SAMARITAN." 

I CALL her my " Little Samaritan " (said Uncle Joe), because I have told 
her fortune, and shall be on the watch now to see if it comes out so. 
By the way she has begun, I think it will. " Samaritan " her real name ? 
O dear, no ; her name is Margaret But did you never hear the old, old 
story, eighteen hundred years old, of the traveller who was knocked down 
and robbed, and left in such a bruised state he could hardly move ? The 
man who carried him to a hotel, and paid his board, and paid his doctor's 
bill, lived in Samaria, and was afterward spoken of as the " Good Samari- 
tan." And to this day, people helping those who need help are sometimes 
called " Good Samaritans." 

But I was going to tell you how it came about that a child not much over 
four years old should have been out on the night of the Fire. It is really 
quite an interesting .story, — short, to be sure, though the Market Street 
boarding-house keeper — to be mentioned presently — was long enough in 
telling all that she knew about it ! 

It happened that Margaret went out to Dorchester, that Saturday after- 
noon, along with a young man, the lover of her oldest sister, called in the 
family sometimes, by way of fun, the " Prince " ; perhaps for the reason 
that in old fairy stories princes did go a wooing to fair maidens. This nice 
young man took Margaret to Dorchester that afternoon, to dine with his 
family, meaning to bring her back at night Their dinner-hour was half- 
past three. While sitting at the table, the Prince received a telegram which 
called him to New York on important business. He had just time to pack 
up his things and catch the train. 

After the Prince had gone, the question arose, how to send Gabriella 
home. There was a good-natured fellow by the name of Michael, an Irish- 
man, of steady habits, who had worked for the family a great many years. 
This Michael being a trusty person, the Prince's mother, — let 's see, she 
would be the " Queen," — well, the Queen asked him if he would take Mar- 
garet home when his chores were done. Michael said he would rather than 
not, for his new overcoat was to be ready that evening, and he wanted to 
go in and get it. 

It was quite late when they started from the house, — stop, I have for- 
gotten one thing. Monday would be the Fair Maiden's birthday, and the 
Queen sent her a present The present was a bronze vase, and it was put 



1873-] Uncle Joes "Little Samaritan? 205 

into a small travelling-bag, along with a few knick-knacks given by the 
"Princesses," and Stub carried the bag, that is, carried it as far as the 
station. A boy ? Stub ? O no, a dog. Margaret's brother's dog, a good, 
faithful creature — though he had no better manners than to go out to Dor- 
chester to dine that day without any invitation ! — followed the Prince and 
Margaret. 

They started late, as I said, and what with walking slowly, on account of 
Margaret, and missing the train, and having to go in the horse-cars, were a 
long time on the road. They came into town at last a little before eight, and 
went up to take a South End car to Brookline Street, — went a roundabout 
way, so as to pass the place where Michael's overcoat was, and make sure 
of that before the shop shut. The man advised him to wear the new one 
and carry the old one, and he did so. He had promised to let his brother 
have the old one, so he thought he would go straight to Beach Street, where 
his brother lived, and leave the coat, and then take an up-town car on Har- 
rison Avenue. He saw there was a fire, but had no idea of its being such 
a great fire, until they found themselves in the crowd ; then he began to 
know something of what was going on, and gave up Beach Street, and 
turned about, thinking to go up on Tremont Street and take a Tremont 
Street car. 

Just as they turned about there came a rush of people to the sidewalk, 
scrambling to get out of the way of a steam-engine. Among them was a 
woman, bareheaded, running, carrying clothes under each arm, and a tub 
of things in her hands. This woman was jostled down close by Michael's 
feet He stooped to help her up, and, in doing that, lost hold of Margaret's 
hand by her mitten slipping off, and the crowd pushed in between them. 
Michael dove, as you may say, head first into that crowd. He elbowed, he 
jammed sideways, he knocked down, he hit with his fists, he acted like a 
crazy man ! A policeman came up, and took him by the collar and dragged 
him off. Stub flew at the policeman. Michael got a chance, while being 
pulled along, to send Stub back. He showed him the mitten. " Find her," 
said he ; "go, find her!" then shoved the mitten in between Stub's teeth. 
And Stub went back. 

Now, on the night of the fire there were plenty of thieves, who helped 
themselves to whatever they could find in the stores. The police were on 
the watch, and, when they saw a fellow making off with any kind of goods, 
stopped him. So when this policeman found a fighting Irishman with two 
overcoats, and a bag of things beside, he took him straight to the police 
station, without listening to one word he had to say, and locked him up 
there. Michael screamed all the way along that he had "last a child/" 
But the policeman thought that was a story, made up just for the sake of 
getting away. 

In the mean time, Margaret was walking very fast toward the Market 
Street boarding-house, — spoken of just now, — led by a short, stout lad, — a 
confectioner's boy, I think he was. O yes, he was, for I remember the 
name they called him. This lad, it seems, seeing a child thrown down, 



2o6 Uncle Jois " Little Samaritan.*' [April, 

picked her up, and carried her through the crowd to the large open space in 
front of the City Hall, then asked her name and where her folks lived. But 
all she would do was to cry, and all she would say was, " I want Michael ! 
I want to see Michael ! " 

The confectioner's boy led her along to the place where he boarded, on 
a little alley letting out of Market Street, and went directly back to help 
move goods, and stayed till after daylight in the morning. Long before 
that time Margaret had cried herself to sleep, and she lay there, still sleep- 
ing, on the lounge. The people were waiting for her to wake up, hoping 
they might then coax her to tell what her father's name was. 

But when the poor thing woke, and found herself in that strange, gloomy 
place, she began to cry, " not out loud, like the night before," the boarding- 
house keeper said, in telling this, " but jammed her face into the lounge, 
and clinched her little fists tight together, and sobbed and grieved ! And 
when I saw that? said the boarding-house keeper, " I told Taffy " (Taffy was 
the confectioner's lad) — " I told Taffy he better cut up, and see what thai 
would do, if he would n't touch the cat, though I mostly stop such works." 

I asked, " What works ? " 

" O, droll works," she said ; " Taffy 's droll. He neighs like a horse, and 
blows like the wind, and grunts and crows and barks and meows and toots 
and somersets and everything ! " 

" What, in this narrow space ? " I asked her. 

" Lor, yes ! Goes over like a ball. But you just look out here," said 
she, " and I '11 show you what calmed the little gal down soonest of any- 
thing, — only the bird stood on Mary's shoulder then." 

I looked across the alley, and saw, at the window of an old, mean-looking 
house, as pretty a picture as could have been seen at the grandest plate- 
glass window in the city. A picture of a little girl feeding her bird. A live 
picture. The girl was alive and the bird was alive. The bird bad perched 
on her head, and she was feeding him with crumbs. Held the crumbs in 
one hand and picked them up with her other thumb and finger. This pretty 
picture, it seems, pleased Margaret so much that she stopped crying to 
look out. 

"And when I saw what stopped her crying," said the boarding-house 
keeper, " I sent for little Mary and her bird to come right over, and they 
both did. And then I gave Taffy a sheet o' paper, and told him to 
write down a description for to put in the papers, and told him what to 
write. Little girl about four years old, plaid dress, boots, white apron, string 
of beads and a cross, curls on both sides of her fiead" 

All true, though it was never put in the newspapers, for, just as Taffy had 
done writing, somebody came in. Guess who. Michael ? No. Policeman ? 
No. Stub. "And a dreadful-looking animal he was," said the boarding- 
house keeper, " singed and smoked, and hair all burnt off in spots, and limp- 
ing on three legs, and I took hold of my broom, — for he flew right at the 
children, and they screamed, and Taffy tipped over the inkstand, and threw 
things, — and struck at him with the poker, but he would keep jumping up on 



1873] Unci* J°J S ''Little Samaritan!' 207 

to your little gal, and all at once she stopped screaming, and says she, * *T is 
Stub ! ' And then she ran into the corner, and turned her face to the wall, 
and cried out loud ! You see it touched her little, poor, tender heart to see 
him hurt so ! And Taffy said, when he came to look, that 't was the very 
same dog he saw hanging round the place where the little gal fell down, 
and said men stoned him off and kicked him offj but he would come back ; 
and no doubt in my mind but he was looking after her / " 

And no doubt he was. We suppose that Stub found the place where 
Michael left Margaret, but could not track her from there very well, because 
Taffy lifted her off the ground ; that he stayed there till the fire drove him 
away, and came, upon her track afterward, on the sidewalk where Taffy led 
her along. At any rate, he reached the boarding-house in some way, and 
after that there was no need of putting a notice in the papers, for the street 
and number were on his collar. 

Frightened? O yes, her folks were frightened, — after 'twas all over! 
Not at the time. They knew of the fire, and thought the Prince had stayed 
down town to watch his store, and would probably leave Margaret with 
some relatives of theirs on Park Street. 

The boarding-house keeper's husband took Margaret home, — her and 
Stub. That was the time when the Brookline Street people had their fright 
And while he was telling his story Michael came, and a policeman with him, 
to see if it was all right about the bag and things inside. He had found out 
about the overcoat 

Margaret's mother went down to see the Market Street boarding-house 
keeper, and I went with her. They had a great deal of talk, and Margaret's 
mother cried there, and could n't think of anything good enough to say, 
and wanted to leave money, but the woman said no. And then Taffy came 
in, and he* had to tell his part of the story all over again, and then we 
wanted he should take some money. But Taffy shook his head in such a 
funny way it made us both smile, and began making one of his " droll" 
noises, — blowing like the wind, I rather thought, and the boarding-house 
keeper nudged him with her elbow — so — to stop him, and he ran into the 
entry and all the way down stairs, blowing a gale ! 

But somebody was found who would take something, and that was little 
Mary. For you may be sure Margaret's mother went to see her. And a 
sad state of things she found there. O, very sad ! The father a drunkard, 
the mother sick, four young children, very little food, and not any winter 
clothes. O yes, little Mary's mother was glad enough to take whatever 
the Brookline Street people might give her. And they have sent many 
things already. Even Margaret has begun a piece of work to send, though 
neither Stub nor I can tell if it will ever be done ; but this is the way it came 
to be begun. 

One day, when we were all talking of the poor people who had been burned 
ou£, a lady present remarked, "Well, we must all be Good Samaritans 
now I " The children wanted to know what that meant, and when they had 
been told, the lady said to Margaret's next older sister, seven or eight years 



208 Uncle Jots "Little Samaritan? [April, 

old, " You may be a Little Samaritan, if you like, dear, and help us sew for 
the poor." 

In a minute Margaret spoke up ; "/want to be it, too ! " she said. 

" Want to be what, darling ? " her mother asked. 

" Want to be — title Samarwitan / " 

Everybody laughed, it came out so droll ; and the dear child, thinking she 
had said a silly thing, ran into the corner and hid her face. 

" Why, darling I " her mother said, " I want you to be one ! Come, I will 
cut out something this moment for you to sew ! " 

Afterward the ladies talked it over, and it was planned that Margaret 
should begin a cradle-quilt for little Mary's baby brother. t 

And the work goes bravely on thus far. The Little Samaritan^ as we call 
her sometimes, sits down every day in her low cane chair, with her work- 
basket, and stitches away as steady as any old lady. There are small squares 
and large squares, but of what pattern that cradle-quilt is to be, I know no 
more than Stub. 

In fact, Stub has the better chance of knowing ; for no sooner does Mar- 
garet take her seat to sew, than he curls himself up on the floor near by, 
with his long ears " flopped down," and there he stays. Stub sticks close 
to Margaret since the fire, — seems to think he has the care of her. 

And Stub has had his fortune told, too ! One day the lady just spoken 
of was telling the girls' fortunes, by looking into the bottoms of their teacups. 
" I see — I see," she would say, — "I see great piles of money ! I see — 
I see — big house, marble front ! I see — " and so she went on, seeing gold 
watches, diamond bracelets, wedding clothes, orange-flowers, and other 
beautiful things. 

At last I took up Margaret's silver cup. " Now," said I, " I am going to 
tell my little girl's fortune ! I see — I see — a tall, pleasant-faced lady. It 
is Margaret, grown up. I see — I see — a shabby bed in a shabby attic. 
On the bed lies a sick girl alone. The tall, pleasant-faced lady comes in, 
bringing flowers. Wild-flowers, they look like. This pleases the sick girl, 
and makes her smile. And now, in another place, a dingy, dismal place, 
I see — I see — a very wicked woman. Very wicked, very poor, very sad. 
Nobody will speak to her because she is bad. Ah ! there is the pleasant- 
faced lady again ! She will befriend her. Yes, she speaks kindly to her. 
The woman is crying. The lady will help her to do better than she has 
been doing. And now I see — I see — a whole streetful of wretched houses, 
wretched faces at the windows. The pleasant-faced lady goes in and out, 
carrying food and clothes ana books. She comforts the sick, she talks 
kindly with those who are despised, she weeps with the sorrowful. She is 
truly a Good Samaritan? 

" And don't you see Stub t " some one asked. 

" Certainly," said I. " Stub carries the bundles ! " 

Abby Morton Diaz. 



1 873.] In a Rag-Bag. 209 



IN A RAG-BAG. 

MRS. McNEELY sat in the centre of her kitchen, on a low stool, with 
her stock in trade, speaking merchant-wise, surrounding her on all 
sides. You would have thought of the nursery song, 

" Rags, rags, and nothing but rags," 

if you could have seen Mrs. McNeely ; for it was " rags, rags, and nothing 
but rags " that surrounded her, and rose up against her, and seemed to bid 
fair, if she stirred, to bury her up ; and it was these " rags, rags, and nothing 
but rags " that formed Mrs. McNeely's stock in trade. 

Well, you need n't laugh, and say, " That 's a likely story," because that 
will only show your ignorance ; but / don't mind that ; only I should like 
to have had you say "a likely story," with an unbelieving air, in Pump 
Court, where Mrs. McNeely lived. Would n't the denizens of Pump Court 
have had the laugh against you t for everybody there knew, from Tommy 
O'Flaherty up to Dennis Flannigan, the great Irish auctioneer, that Mrs. 
McNeely was a person of importance, in consequence of this rag business. 

The way she did it — this rag business — was to go about in all the 
waste places and the work places where rags could accumulate, or fly and 
flutter ; and with a stick and a great deal of patience she would gather 
up, at the end of a day, sometimes the biggest big bagfuls you ever saw. And 
what do I mean by work places and waste places ? Well, you are, as Mrs. 
McNeely herself would say, " an ignorant craythur." 

The work places are the tailors' and the dress-makers' and the milliners' 
and upholsterers', and everywhere else that you or anybody can think of where 
any kind of article is made out of material that will furnish a silk or woollen 
or cotton or linen rag. And the waste places — But what are you saying, 
" Don't the tailors and the dress-makers and the milliners and the uphol- 
sterers keep any rag-bags of their own?" To be sure they do ; but then, 
think of the scraps and scraps, in such seas of scraps, that tired and heedless 
girls and boys and porters will sweep up as refuse, instead of sorting out 
And why should n't they ? I 'm sure they have enough. Well, and it 's 
these floor-scraps that Mrs. McNeely bargained for, — and her bargain was 
just to do the night sweeping ; that was her payment for the floor-scraps. 
She had all she could sweep up. And after that, or bejtween the night 
sweepings, she went to the waste places, in all the street corners, and mill 
neighborhoods, and by the wharfs where ships laden with cotton came in, 
and where the cotton bales dripped out from overfulness their white wefts. 
O, there was n't a nook or a corner that she or little Teddy did n't find out ! 

Teddy McNeely ? No, you 're wrong there, but it is n't strange you 
should think that, because almost everybody thought so, except those 
knowing people in Pump Court ; but they 'd known Mrs. McNeely for 
years, and they knew that Teddy was only a little stray boy, one of the 

vol. ix no. — nr. 14 



210 In a Rag-Bag. [April, 

rags, that funny man, Dennis Flannigan, used to say, that Mrs. McNeely 
had picked up in her wanderings. 

" I found him down there by Bannergan's Wharf; sure, a crying fit to break 
his heart, and sorra a word I could get out of him but that his mother was 
dead, and there was nobody to care for him, and so I brought him home 
wi' me ; and though he is n't much to look at he 's as dacent a boy as ye '11 
mate onywheres," is Mrs. McNeely's story. And Mrs. McNeely had had 
little Teddy for two years when my story commences, and been very good to 
him, said those watchful neighbors of hers in Pump Court. And that day 
when she sat there in her kitchen, in the beginning of the story, little Teddy 
sat there too, though the rags were so deep that you could n't see him unless 
somebody pointed him out. It was filling day, — that means the day when 
the rags, all washed spick and span, and sorted out, were put into the great 
bags ready for sale to the paper-mill 

" The cart will be here at five o'clock, Teddy, and ye 11 have time to put 
the rest in while I rin around to Mrs. Flannigan's to ax after the baby," 
said Mrs. McNeely, when she had worked an hour or two. Teddy was 
used to this "rinning around" to Mrs. Flannigan's, and he knew that 
"axing" after the baby generally took a long while. But he had a good 
hour yet before the cart would come, and in this hour he would do his best 
And his " best " was usually very quick work. It was so quick on this occa- 
sion, that by half-past four there was only one bag left to fill, — only one 
bag, and not half enough rags left to fill it 

" Well, here 's a go," said Teddy, who caught a great many queer grown- 
up expressions in his rag-hunts. And then, just to amuse himself, " I '11 
fill it up with myself," he laughed ; and, laughing, in he went, cramming in 
the rags all about him, until he was in the centre of a little soft bed, with 
a comfortable clearing near the top for a breathing-place. 

" Wonder how much this bag would weigh ? " he said, still laughing in 
his fun. And the laugh sounded so queer, all muffled up with the rags, that 
he laughed again and again, and again and again repeated, " Wonder how 
much this bag would weigh ? wonder how much this bag would weigh ? " 
all for the purpose of hearing the droll sounds. And by and by, listening 
to his own voice, he became conscious of other voices, — little soft, tinkling 
tones that laughed and laughed, and repeated after him, "Wonder how 
much this bag would weigh ? wonder how much this bag would weigh ? " 
Where did they come from ? Where, indeed ? Why, here, all about him ; 
here in the bag, here in the rags ; — why, it was the rags themselves, who were 
crowding and pushing and hustling and rustling, the rags that had taken 
upon themselves the funniest shapes of fairy face and form, — the smallest 
possible shapes without an atom of color, but little atoms of white that 
winked and nodded and made the oddest grimaces at him all the time they 
were laughing and crying in those tiny tones, " Wonder how much this bag 
would weigh ? wonder how much this bag would weigh ? " And Teddy, not 
in the least surprised, joined in the fun, and winked and nodded and laughed 
and made faces with the best of them. 



1 873] A * Rag-Bag. 211 

He was deep in the frolic, hitting out right and left to keep them from 
smothering him as they all came at him at once, when suddenly a great voice 
roared out, " Wonder how much this bag will weigh ! " And the little 
white atoms shrunk into stillness, and Teddy felt a great rush of air, and 
saw a great rush of light, and then — and then — and then he found himself 
in a great place, which looked at first like an enormous railroad depot, but 
which w<wa warehouse, and he was still half in the bag and half out, and 
the bag and he were placed upon a ticklish sort of a thing, which turned 
out to be a weighing-scale. 

" What are you doing here ? and what do you mean, eh, by such a trick 
as this ? " the great voice roared at him. " Playing, and got asleep 1 that 's 
a likely story ! " as Teddy began to explain. " I know it 's a Paddy trick 
to weigh down the bag and cheat the company out of an extra dollar ! 
S'll teach you, you little rascal ! " And in another minute Teddy would have 
" caught " it, if another voice belonging to another person had n't inter- 
rupted with, " What 's the matter, Jack ? " And Jack turning to tell his 
story, Teddy got out of the bag in a twinkling, and before you could say 
"Jack Robinson " he went up one of the columns or joists, or whatever they 
are called, that help steady those great high warerooms, — went up like a cat, 
or a born sailor, and like a born sailor clung there with his little slim legs 
in a twist, one over the other, and his little slim arms in a league with the 
legs. The gentleman — for it was a gentleman who had asked, " What is 
the matter, Jack ? " — looked up at Teddy and laughed, and Teddy looked 
back and laughed, and the next minute was telling his story ; how he was 
playing, and, popping into the bag in his play, he fell asleep there, and 
never woke until Jack roared at him down there on the scales. 

" A likely story ! why, them Paddies — " began Jack again. 

" I ain't a Paddy, I only live with Mrs. McNeely, and help her about the 
rags ; and Mrs. McNeely is a great deal better 'n you are, for she never 
hits a feller littler 'n herself," shouted back Teddy from his perch. 

The gentleman laughed again. " Let him alone, Jack, he 's too much for 
you," he said ; and presently, at his invitation, and the promise that nobody 
should harm him, Teddy slid down from his high place and followed him 
into the counting-room, where he told all he knew about himself, and an- 
swered a good many questions, which finally ended in the gentleman's 
asking him if he would like to come and work for him to sort over rags. 

Teddy, of course, was delighted at the idea of getting into such a big 
place of business as this. " But Mrs. McNeely? " 

" O, I '11 settle all about that," answered the gentleman, — which he did 
in less than an hour, for everything was done very quickly in this big place 
of business. 

"Shure, and it wouldn't be meself that would stand in the b'y's way," 
said Mrs. McNeely, in this settling interview; "but as I took him when 
he was a bit lad, and fed him and clothed him, and taught him the rag 
business, yer honor, I think — " 

" That you ought to have something for your pains," interrupted the gen- 



212 In a Rag-Bag. [April, 

tleman. " So do I, Mrs. McNeely." And then an arrangement was made 
which was satisfactory to all parties. Teddy was to board with Mrs. Mc- 
Neely, and she was to look out for him at so much per week, regularly paid 
in by Jansen & Co., Paper-Manufacturers. And Teddy was to go into a 
school class two or three hours every day ; that was another arrangement 
which was made with a primary school just round the corner from Jansen 
& Co.'s Paper-Mill. 

x " Ah, but you 're born to the luck, Teddy ! " said Mrs. McNeely, as all 
these arrangements were completed. 

" And it all came from my going to sleep in a rag-bag," thought Teddy. 

But a great deal more than this came from Teddy's going to sleep in a 
rag-bag. "It was all fairy work," Ted declares, telling the story himself, — 
fairy work from the minute he was left alone in Mrs. McNeely's kitchen till 
— till — well — till this day. " Of course, they put me to sleep." 

" « They ' ? and who is * they ' ? " asks a little bright-eyed girl, who sits, 
winking and blinking at this story, on Ted's knee, — Ted who is now six 
feet high, with the biggest broad shoulders, — a grown-up Ted, you know. 

" 'They ? who is they ' ? Why, the rags, to be sure, who were fairies, or 
my good angels in disguise. They put me to sleep, while I was carried 
away to my future fortune." 

" And what is that ? " questions little Bright-eyes, as Ted stops a moment 
and looks across at another Bright-eyes, twice as big as the one on his knee. 

" What is that ? " Ted smiles, and shows the handsomest white teeth. 
" O, a bag of money which buys a fairy palace, where I am to live with the 
fairy princess ! " 

"Is she one of the rags turned into a princess ? " asks Bright-eyes. 

" Ask her, there she sits," answers Ted. 

" O," cries Bright-eyes, " it 's only Laura, our Laura ! and I don't believe 
a word about the fairy rags now. You 're going to marry our Laura, and 
live in that little house on the Back Bay that we all went to look at yester- 
day ; and that 's your fairy palace ! " And Bright-eyes tosses her head in 
great disdain at such a commonplace story. 

" But I think that is the prettiest little fairy palace in the world, and I 'm 
sure it all came out of a rag-bag ; for what is Jansen & Co.'s Paper-Mill 
but a great rag-bag, Miss Bessie Bright-eyes, where your humble servant 
gets his bag of money to buy his fairy palace ? " 

" And Mrs. McNeely, did she get a fairy palace ? " saucily asks Miss Bess. 

"Yes, in Pump Court, — what she calls 'an illegant house.'" 

" And your father, •*- tell that over again ; I like the sorry part best, for that 
is certain true, and you only make fun with the fairies," says Bess, with 
great dignity. And so Ted, or Mr. Theodore Shaffer, of the firm of Jansen 
& Co., as people say now, told how his father, Captain Shaffer, came home 
from a long shipwrecking voyage to find his wife dead, and his little son, 
report said, drowned, — for such was the fate that was thought to have be- 
fallen the child when his cap was found on Bannergan's Wharf, where he 
was last seen. And here it was that Mrs. McNeely's quick Irish heart was 



1 873.] "Dot's Party." 213 

touched at the little wanderer's story of belonging to nobody and nobody 
caring for him. And one day, when Captain Shaffer came into Jansen & 
Co.'s, to see the great paper-mill, and Mr. Jansen called Teddy " to show 
the gentleman about," Captain Shaffer, who could never forget that name, 
began to ask questions, and the whole story came out, "which ends my 
story," winds up Mr. Ted. 

" O, but wait just a minute ! did — did — " But here the door opens, and 
Bessie cries out, "O Captain Shaffer, dear Captain Shaffer, you tell me the 
rest of the story. Did you kiss Teddy when you found he was your Teddy, 
in the paper-mill ? " 

" As I kiss you, little Bess," answers Captain Shaffer, lifting Bess from 
Ted's knee to his own shoulder. Which kiss ends my story, dear reader. 

Nora Perry. 



"DOT'S PARTY." 

'""PELL us a story, a true story, Uncle Sam ! " from half a dozen voices ; 

J- and up on my lap and on the arms of my wheeled-chair climb, laugh- 
ing and chattering, boys and girls together. 

These are my every-day friends and companions ; and I have lived so long 
in the village that I am known as " Uncle Sam " to all the children in the 
place, because, first, I am very partial to the young folks and they all know 
me, and because I'tna curious old fellow, and ride about in a wheeled-chair, 
and have no family but my colored boy, Smoke', and my dear old Dot, a 
black-and-tan terrier, that has been my dearest friend ever since she knew 
enough to follow me. That is more than fifteen years ago, but she does n't 
think she 's getting old ; and this very day she can jump a fence, catch a 
rat, worry a cat, or swim across the mill-pond, as well as any young, giddy, 
thoughtless dog in the country. 

As for her good-nature, she lets everybody play with her, and plague 
her too. She runs away, very properly, from big boys ; but, bless her old 
heart ! when the little toddlers that can just walk reach up to her tail and 
pull it, she never minds it at all ; and I really believe she 'd let a baby pull 
her tail out and she would n't be angry. Smoke says she "knows more 'n 
mos* folkses, — yes, more'n de schoolmarm!" He always gives her the 
biggest half of his candy-stick, and divides his gingerbread evenly with her ; 
he shows her all the new pictures, and sits on the sill of the kitchen door 
by the hour, telling her what he has seen in the village, and he believes she 
understands every word he says. She is lying at my feet now, and her big, 
brown, sad eyes are turned up to my face, as if to ask me what I 'm writing 
about ; but when I say, " Dot, it 's about your party " (to be sure, I say the 
last word rather louder than the rest), she gets up at once from the floor, 
and goes under the bed. 



214 "Dots Party." [April, 

Very often, when Dot does something really funny, she seems to enjoy 
it so much, and her tail wags so quickly, that I look at her and wish she 
could laugh. If a dog could only smile, it would be the jolliest thing in the 
world ! To be sure, dogs do grin sometimes, when they sit down to scratch 
at a flea which they come very near reaching, and can't ; but if they could 
speak they would say there was no fun in that Then think of a dumb 
dog, — I mean a dog without a tail, a dog with no expression, for he can't 
wag his ears or his nose. I had a poor, forlorn little brute once that had 
a little wee stump of a tail about as big as a bite off a banana (a boy's bite) ; 
and when he wagged it, it went so fast it made you fairly wink to look at 
it, — appearing to say, " Yes, I know it is n't much of a tail, but it 's the best 
I 've got, and I must make the most of it." 

As to dogs thinking, I know they do ; I 'm sure Dot does. I 've often seen 
her standing in the middle of the road, first looking up then down it, and 
at last scampering under the bars of the fence and over the meadows to 
keep an engagement which she had almost forgotten. Some time ago I was 
sitting in the door-yard, in my wheeled-chair, waiting for Smoke to come 
and roll me down to the village of Chataway (which is very near to my little 
cottage), when a neighbor's boy who was very fond of Dot came along and 
gave her a very nice meat-bone. First she picked it up in her mouth, and 
then looked at me, seeming to say, " I have n't time to eat it, and I do 
want to go with you " ; then she ran to the wood-pile and buried it very 
snugly under the chips and loose bark ; then, capering with joy and wagging 
her tail, she skirmished ahead, fluttering the young turkeys and chickens, 
and going through every bit of broken fence she discovered. At last she 
quietly fell into line in our procession of three, — I in my wheeled-chair, Smoke 
as a propeller, and Dot demurely following as though she never knew what 
mischief was. About half a mile from home we met Hector, the tinsmith's 
big spotted dog, trotting along very sedately, and much too proud to notice 
me, or Smoke, or even Dot ; but she did pay some attention to him, and 
stopped and began to think, and soon, having made up her mind, she just 
ranged up alongside of big Hector, and trotted at a respectful distance, until 
they both had passed the place where she had buried her bone. Then, to 
make up for lost time, she turned and dashed down the road after us, and 
came tearing in, covered with dust, and winking as if to say, " Hector 's a 
big dog, and a smart one, but he can't fool me ! " 

Only yesterday, as I was sitting in my room writing, I heard her scratch- 
ing at the door ; and as she has all outdoors to play in, and as she never 
disturbs me in my work, I knew something was wrong. So I left my desk, 
and, wheeling my chair to the door, let her in. Her ears and tail were 
drooping, and she was in disgrace about something ; she looked and acted 
as if she wanted me to ask her what the trouble was. 

" Dot," I said, " is it water you want ? " She looked up, but made no sign, 
— no tail language. " Are you hungry ? " Still no answer. " Have you been 
in mischief?" Slowly and sadly her tail began to move, as she walked 
toward the open door, looking back over her shoulder to see if I would 



I873-] " Dots Party." 215 

follow her ; so I wheeled through the hall and into the little kitchen, where 
she stopped before a broken mug that had been standing on a table with 
fresh milk. No milk on the floor, none in the broken cup; but a very 
suspicious whiteness about her whiskers, as though she had been lathering 
for a shave and had been suddenly called away. 

What, my dear children, do you suppose she wanted ? Why, to be punished 
for breaking the mug ! So of her own accord she put her forepaws upon 
my knees, and, laying her funny black head (with its yellow dots over her 
eyes) upon my lap, she waited until I had gently boxed her ears and made 
believe scold her, and then, with her tail up and waving, and ears erect, she 
ran out into the garden, barking and scampering around as happy as any 
dog in the world that has been punished for being naughty and is glad it 
is all over with. 

About the party ? Yes, it 's a very short story. It was in early fall of last 
year, and I was awake, quite ready to get out of bed, and waiting for Dot 
to make her appearance and say good morning, which she always does by 
licking my hand. Smoke, my boy, was busy preparing my breakfast, and 
the delicious smell of the coffee was going through the whole little house. 
I reached over the side of the low bed, and looked at Dot's, beside it. She 
was n't there, nor had she slept there ; for the mat was smooth, and the rug 
that she always covers herself with was folded up snugly. I whistled, and 
called her name, but no answer came. Had she been in the house, she 
would have made a great row to get into my room. While I was wondering 
what could be the matter, in came Smoke, his face in a broad grin, and his 
white teeth shining like a flash of light across his sooty head. He threw 
his head back and chuckled until he was nearly strangled, and said, " De 
Lor* bress you, Missa Sam 1 you need n't jes' whistle for dat ar Dot no 
more ! You jes' dress yesef, and come out on de porch, dat 's all She 
had a party las' night ; she no gone sleep de hull night ; she gib a party 
and eat all de tings herse£ O Missa Sam, I fought I no hear her snore las' 
night. She gone into de dinin'-room, dar's whar she had a party. She 
eat all de leg cole lamb, she eat two poun' buttah, de hull ob de punkin-pie, 
she lick all dem plates clean ; dey is on de floor now, all hull, nary one 
is bruk. Yes, sah, she had a party, and she lyin' out on de porch all 
smooth, jes' like a watermelon. You jes' come and see ! " 

As I wheel out on the porch I hear Smoke say, " Here comes Missa 
Sam ! You kotch it now, for shure ! " I find her round and smooth, as 
Smoke says ; and she lies down, and just lazily lifts her eyes, as if to say, 
u I can't help it ! " 

For three days she took no other exercise than walking up and down the 
porch ; but the experience taught her a lesson of temperance, and she has 
never since touched a morsel of food that was not given her. To this day, 
if Smoke says, " Dot, if yer gives anudder party, yer must n't be greedy, 
yer must jes' ax some odder dogs / " she will drop her tail and sneak away 
for very shame. 

Sam Ey tinge. 



2l6 



The ftew Suit of Clothes. 



[April, 



THE NEW SUIT OF CLOTHES. 



I HAVE had a good many suits of clothes in my life, and worn and torn 
and outgrown them, but there is one particular suit which I have reason 
to remember more than any other. 

That was my first new suit. Always before I had taken my older brother's 
clothes as he outgrew them ; but the summer when I was twelve years old, 
my mother — my proud, fond mother — made me a new suit with her own 
hands. 

Never shall I forget the morning when first I put them on, — " not to wear 
them, but only to see how I looked in them," she said ; for they were to 




be kept for Sunday. To please me, she let me step out into the street 
"just to show them to my mates." My jacket was buttoned to the chin, 
my clean white collar was turned over it, and my hair was so nicely combed 
that I did not want to wear my hat Besides, my hat was not new, and 
did not look well enough, I thought, to go with me and my new clothes ! 
My mother had made me a pair of fine, large pockets in my trousers ; and 
I kept my hands in them, of course. How fondly she watched me from the 
window, as I met the other children, and stood calm and dignified and hand- 
some while they flocked around and admired me ! 



18730 



The New Suit of Clotltes. 



217 



There were two boys, especially, — Lincoln Edmonds and Gale Leveritt, 
— whose attentions flattered me prodigiously. They were two or three 
years older than I, and had never deigned to play with me much before ; 
but now they came running to me, as if I had been their oldest and dearest 
friend, just returned to them after a long absence. 

" O, look at his new clo'es, Link ! " cried Gale. " Ain't they tiptop ? I 
bet ye ! " As he was barefooted, and dressed in his old every-day clothes, 
I thought such praise from him exceedingly generous. 

" He 's the nicest boy we know ; ain't he, Gale ? " cried Link, coming up. 
" We '11 give him some harvest apples, won't we ? " 




u Of course we will ! " said Gale. " We know where there 's some splen- 
did, — close by here, too. Come, and we Ml show ye." 

" Don't go away from the house ! " called my mother, as I started to 
accompany them. 

" Only just around the corner here," said Link. 

"Just around the corner," however, proved to be around two corners and 
down a long street ; and when we reached the place of the apples, I was a 
little disappointed to find them still hanging on a tree which they showed 
me over a neighbor's fence ! 

" Who 's going to climb it ? " I asked. 

Gale said that perhaps he would ; but Link replied, " Ho ! you can't climb 



218 



The New Suit of Clothes. 



[April, 



a tree half so well as Gussie can ! You should see Gussie climb once ! 
Come, Gussie ! You are just the fellow for that little tree ! " 

My head was quite turned by this flattery, — though Link had never seen 
me climb a tree, and could not possibly have known very much of my accom- 
plishments in that line. I have since observed that people who are very 
eager for praise are not apt to look closely to see if it has any foundation 
in truth. 

Fancying for the moment that I was the greatest climber in the world, 
and that I was to excite fresh wonder and admiration by my exploit, I 
clasped the trunk, and with the help of a little boosting reached the branches. 







Being quite out of breath by that time, my ambition also began to foil me, 
and I thought of my new clothes. 

" I 'm 'fraid I shall tear 'em ! " I said. 

11 Ho ! " said Link, " such cloth as that won't tear ; will it, Gale ?" 

" Besides, you 're up there now," said Gale. " Come, fling down some, 
and hurry ! " 

As he looked stealthily behind him, I then began to question his right 
to the apples he had been so ready to " give " me ; but he said, " Of course ! 
Captain Cobb said we might have all we wanted ; did n't he, Link ? " 

As I had got my breath again by this time, my resolution also came back, 



I873-] 



The New Suit of Clothes. 



219 



and, climbing up higher into the branches, I began to pick and throw down 
the largest and finest of the apples, while my companions ate, and stuffed 
their pockets. 

Suddenly I heard a whisper, — " There he is ! run ! run ! " — followed by 
a sound of scampering feet ; and, looking down, I saw Gale and Link scram- 
bling over the orchard fence. Persuaded that there must be some urgent 
reason for their flight, I looked in the opposite direction, and saw Captain 
Cobb coming, at a furious rate, from a clump of quinces behind which he 
had been watching us. 

If I had had my wits about me, I suppose I should have stayed in the 







tree, and candidly explained to him now I came there. Perhaps he would 
have believed in my innocence. But seeing my comrades going, and the 
Captain coming, all in such dreadful haste, a panic seized me, and I began to 
go down the tree a good deal faster than I went up. 

My clothes caught on the limbs, but I did not mind that I heard them 
tear as I broke away, and I almost broke my knee as I fell to the 
ground ; but, without regarding these slight accidents, I tumbled myself 
over the fence just in time to avoid Captain Cobb's outstretched hand. I 
fell again as I went over, however, and as I was regaining my feet a strong 
hand grasped my collar. 

It was the Captain's. I alone had fallen into his clutches, while the real 



220 



The. New Suit of Clothes. 



[April, 



thieves, with their pockets full of apples, at that very moment disappeared 
around the street corner. 

" I did n't ! I did n't ! " I screamed. 

" You did n't, eh ? Don't tell me that, when I caught you at it ! " cried 
the indignant Captain, brandishing a switch. 

" 'T was them ! 't was them ! " I said. 

" I don't know anything about them ! " he replied ; and whisk, whisk i 
came the switch about my legs. 

" They made me ! they gave me the apples, — said you told them they 




might ! " I wildly explained. " I have n't eaten one ! " — which was indeed 
the truth. 

u So much the worse for you, if you have been fool enough to act as their 
cat's-paw ! They '11 tell mtyou gave them the apples ; that 's the way with 
boys. There ! " — a final cut with the switch. " Now, don't you ever let 
me see you in my orchard again ! " 

Ah, what a story I had to tell when I at last went home, weeping and 
wailing, to my mother ! Good children, happy in their old clothes, followed 
me to the door, and stood by, watching with looks of mild pity her aston- 
ishment and grief at seeing me in that wretched plight. My jacket had lost 
two or three buttons, and my trousers were sadly torn. I had been smartly 
whipped by the Captain ; and, what was worse, he had gone to the shop to 
tell my father. 



18730 



Tlu New Suit of Clothes. 



221 



My mother took me into the house. Was I the same boy who had left it 
half an hour before, the wonder of the other children who crowded around me 
to admire my new clothes ? Now I could hear them laughing and jeering 
at me outside the door. 

" What will your father say ! " exclaimed my poor mother, turning me 
around to look at my rents on all sides. 

What he would say we knew pretty soon ; for, on being told by the 
Captain that I had been caught in the very act of stealing his fruit, and 
throwing it down to other boys whom he had good reason to believe J had 




enticed to the spot, he had hurried home ; and there he found me, with 
the sad evidences of the mischief I had been in all over my guilty person. 

He did not stop to listen to my poor excuses or my mother's entreaties. 
He took down a stick from over the tall, old-fashioned clothes-press. He 
laid me across his knee. My mother turned her face to the wall. No mat- 
ter what followed, it was what I so little expected when I put on my new 
clothes that morning, and went out, proud and happy, to show myself to 
my mates ! 

After all, I think that was the most valuable suit of clothes I ever had ; 
for my vanity that day received a lesson which it never forgot. 



222 The Day of Judgment. [April, 



THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 

I AM fourteen years old, and Jill is twelve and a quarter. Jill is my brother. 
That isn't his name, you know; his name is Timothy, and mine is 
George Zacharias ; but they 've always called us Jack and Jill. I 'm sure 
I don't see why. If we 'd had much water to carry — but it is n't a well at 
our house, it 's pipes ; and we never broke our heads on hills, or anything 
of that kind ; the most I ever broke was a toe-joint, and it was splintered 
up, besides the gash in Jill's neck from coasting. 

But I don't think you often understand about names. There 's Maher- 
shalal-hash-baz, for instance. We had that at Sunday school last Sunday. 
I 'm glad I was n't Isaiah's boy. 

Well, Jill and I had an invitation down to Aunt John's this summer, and 
that was how we happened to be there. It 's a great thing to have an invi- 
tation to Aunt John's. We don't go visiting in our family without invita- 
tions ; I mean if we 're relations. We like it better. Then they 're glad to 
see you, and the girl is n't sick, and there 's berry-cake for supper, and you 
have the spare room, and like as not maple-sirup on your flapjacks. Once 
I had broiled chicken for breakfast three times a week at Cousin Palmer's. 

Aunt John can't afford chicken unless it 's Sundays, because her chickens 
are 'most all guinea-hens and one turkey. But I 'd rather go to Aunt John's 
than anywhere else in this world. When I was a little fellow I used to 
think I 'd rather go to Aunt John's than to go to heaven. But I never 
dared to telL But when I had the scarlet-fever down there, I* let it out 
some way to Aunt John, and she never scolded a bit I thought she cried, 
but I never was sure, because she was just digging out the guava-jelly with 
a teaspoon. 

You could n't tell what it is about going to Aunt John's. It is n't so 
much the maple-sirup. Nor the four-o'clock dinner Sundays, and the crisp 
on the mashed potato. I don't think it 's the barn nor the tool-house ; 
it is n't all the old carryall out under the butternut-tree ; Aunt John leaves 
that carryall there yet, though it 's just a smash from the wind and weather 
and us boys, because Jill says he 'd feel homesick not to see it ; and she 
could n't even play go for the doctor in it, it 's such a smash. 

Aunt John takes photographs and tintypes. Most boys think it 's funny 
for a lady to take tintypes, but Jill and I don't She always has. At least, 
uncle did, and she helped, and so he died, and she kept right along. She 
has a saloon next the post-office, and her girl gets dinner, and she comes 
home at twelve, to sit round in the shady places on the steps with Jill and 
me, and guess what we 're going to have for dessert 

I don't know but it 's the saloon that 's a good deal of it at Aunt John's. 
You ought to see the album Jill and I 've got, of just pictures of ourselves 
every way you can imagine, — with two heads ; and three ; and upside-down ; 
and back side front ; and eating flapjacks ; and out fishing ; and the turkey 
for a frontispiece, besides. 



I873-] The Day of Judgment. 223 

It takes me a great deal longer than I thought it would, to get to what I 
set out to say about how we went to Aunt John's this time. 

She 'd invited us to come on the 12th of August It takes all day to get 
to Aunt John's. She lives at Little River, in New Hampshire, away up. 
You have to wait at South Lawrence in a poky little depot, and you have 
to change cars at Dover, and you get some played out At least, I don't 
so much, but Jill does ; so we bought a paper. I bought the paper, because 
he bought the pop-corn and the mustiest jumble I ever ate. But I got 
some prize-candy, when it came my turn, and a fish-hook in it ; I should n't 
have noticed the fish-hook, if I had n't come so near swallowing it 

But so we bought the paper, and Jill sat up and read it ; he tipped his 
cap on the back of his head, and sat up like the man in front of us with 
the big neck and the long mustache. I 'd have punched a pin in him to 
see him jump, if he 'd sat up so long, but he did n't When he 'd sat a 
minute and read along : — 

"Look here!" said he, 

" Look where ? " said I. 

" Why, there 's going to be a comet to-night," said JilL 

"Who cares? "said I. 

Jill laid down the paper, and crunched a pop-corn all up before he an- 
swered that Then said he : "I don't see why father neyer told us. I s'pose 
he thought we 'd be frightened, or something. Why, s'posing the world did 
come to an end ? That 's what this paper says. * It is predicted — it is ' — 
yes, where 's my place ? O, I see — 'predicted by learned men that a comet 
will come into con — conjunction with our plant ' — no — ' our planet this 
night Whether we shall be plunged into a wild vortex of angry space, or 
suffocated with n-o-x — noxious gases, or scorched to a helpless crisp, or 
blasted at once into eternal an-ni-hi — ' " 

A gust of wind grabbed the paper out of Jill's hand just then, and took 
it out the window ; so I never read the rest I looked it up in my defini- 
tions when I got home, and I thought that word must have been annihi- 
lation. 

" Father is n't a goose," said I. " He did n't think it worth mentioning. 
He is n't going to be afraid of a comet at his time of life ! " 

So we did n't think anything more about the comet till we got to Aunt 
John's. So when we got to Aunt John's, there was company there, after all. 
It was n't a relation, only an old schoolmate, and her name was Miss Togf ; 
so she'd come without an invitation, and had to have the spare room 
because she was a lady. That was how Jill and I came to be put into the 
little chimney bedroom. 

And so Jill went out to the carryall, first thing ; but I went over to the 
saloon before supper, and I took the yellow cat and the baker's boy before 
supper, besides Miss Togy standing on her head. I did n't like her much 
for being there, because Aunt John had to pay so much attention to her. 

So we had an O. K. time till we went to bed. 

They talked about the comet too, at supper, but I did n't mind ; and Miss 



224 The Day of Judgment. [April, 

Togy said she 'd been nervous about it all day ; but Jill said women always 
were. 

At last we went to bed in the little chimney bedroom. We went early ; 
it was dark early, Aunt John said from a storm somewhere about ; and we 'd 
been in the cars all day. 

That little chimney bedroom is the funniest place you ever slept in. I 
never slept in one so funny unless it was the night we had missionaries, 
and I slept under the attic stairs, and the mouse ran up my shirt-sleeve. 
There 'd been a chimney once, and it ran up by the window, and grandfather 
had it taken away. It was a big, old, */</-fashioned chimney, and it left the 
funniest little gouge in the room. So the bed went in as nice as could be. 
We could n't see much but the ceiling when we got to bed. 

u It 's pretty dark," said Jill. " I should n't wonder if it did blow up a 
little. Wouldn't it scare — Miss — Bogy ! " 

" Togy," said I. 

"Well, To—" said Jill; and right in the middle of it he went off as 
sound as a weasel. 

The next thing I can remember is a horrible noise. It was a horrible 
noise. I can't think of but one thing in this world it was like, and that 
isn't in this world so much. I mean the Last Trumpet with the Angel 
blowing as he blows in my old Primer. 

But the next thing I remember is hearing Jill sit up in bed, — for I 
could n't see him, it was so dark, — and his piping out the other half of Miss 
Togy's name, just as he had left it when he went to sleep : — 

" Gy! Bogy/ Fo-gy/ Soa-*y / O," said Jill, coming to at last, "I 
thought I was up and tried for heading a Photographer's Strike, and going 
to be hung unless I could rhyme Miss Logy's name and make sense all the 
way through to Z ! That red pincushion mother keeps in the spare chamber 
at home was judge. Why I what 's up ? " 

I was up, but I could n't tell what else was, for a little while. I went to 
the window. It was as dark as a great rat-hole out-of-doors, all but a streak 
of lightning and an awful thunder, as if the world were cracking all to 
pieces. I knew the cherry-trees in the garden must be shaking and tossing, 
for the wind blew so it took my breath away ; but I could not see them, not 
a speck of them. Then the lightning lightened, and I saw the old carryall 
under the butternut, and then I saw nothing more. 

" Come to bed ! " shouted Jill ; " you '11 get struck, and that '11 kill me ! " 

I went back to bed, for I did n't know what else to do. We crawled down 
under the clothes and covered ourselves all up. 

"W- would — you — call Aunt — John?" asked Jill. He was 'most 
choked. I came up for air. 

" No," said I, " I don't think I 'd call Aunt John." 

I should have liked to call Aunt John by that time ; but then I should 
have felt ashamed. „ 

" I s'pose she 's got her hands full looking after Miss Croaky, any way/' 
chattered Jill, bobbing up for a breath, and then bobbing under. 



1 873.] The Day of Judgment. 225 

By that time, the storm was the worst storm I had ever seen in my life. 
Jill said he thought it would n't have seemed so bad if we had n't been in 
the little chimney bedroom. I thought so too. It was so dark in the gouge 
where the bed stood. Then I thought the ceiling came down over our 
heads like a coffin-lid. I said so to Jill. He said he 'd kick me out of bed 
if I said it again. 

And so it grew worse and worse. Thunder, lightning, and wind ! Wind, 
lightning, and thunder ! Rain and roar and awfulness ! I don't know how 
to tell how awful it was. 

All the house shook as if it had a fit And our bed rattled up against 
the wall. And there was hail, and it beat the window in. It cut me on the 
face when I bobbed up to look. It felt like a great sword. 

In the middle of the biggest peal we 'd had yet, up jumped Jill. " Jack ! " 
said he, " that comet ! " I 'd never thought of the comet till that minute. 
I felt an ugly feeling, and a little cold all over. " It is the comet," said Jill. 
" It is the Day of Judgment, Jack." • 

Jill said this in a funny way, just an every-day way, as if we 'd been play- 
ing in the saloon, and he 'd told me to move the camera a little. I asked 
him afterwards why he did n't howl. He said he was too scared. 

Then it happened. It happened so fast I didn't even have time to get 
my head out from under the clothes. 

First there was a creak. Then a crash. Then we felt a shake, as if a 
giant pushed his shoulder up through the floor and Shoved us. Then we 
doubled up. And then we began to fall. The floor opened, and we went 
through. I heard the bedpost hit as we scraped by. Then I knew I was 
felling. Then I felt another crash. # Then we began to fall again. Then 
we bumped down hard. After that we stopped falling. I lay still. My 
heels were doubled up Over my head. I thought my neck would break. 
But I never dared to stir. I thought that I was dead. 

By and by I wondered if Jill were not dead too. So I undoubled my neck 
a little, and found some air. It seemed to be just as uncomfortable to double 
up your neck, and to breathe without air, when you were dead, as it was 
when you were n't. 

So I called out, softly, "Jill!" No answer. "7*7//" Not a sound. 
"O — Jill!" 

But he did not speak. So then I knew Jill must be dead, at any rate. 
I could n't help wondering why he was so much deader than I that he 
could n't answer a fellow. Pretty soon I heard a rustling noise around my 
feet. Then a weak, sick kind of a noise, — just the noise I always had sup- 
posed ghosts would make if they talked. 

"Jack?" 

" Is that you, Jill ? » 

"I — suppose — so. Is it you, Jack ? n 

"Yes. Are you dead?" 

" 1 don't know. Are you ? " 

" I guess I must be if you are. How awfully dark it is ! " 

vol. ix.-— no. iv, 15 



226 The Day of Judgment. [April, 

" Awfully dark I It must have been the comet ! " 

" Yes. Did you get much hurt ? " 

" Not much. I say — Jack ? " 

"What?" 

" If it is the Judgment Day — " Jill broke up. So did I. We lay as still 
as we could. If it were the Judgment Day — 

I thought of so many things. I remembered all the lies I ever told. I 
couldn't help thinking how I hadn't said my prayers since mother had 
the typhoid fever. I don't believe I ever cheated at a game of marbles in 
my life, that I did n't think about it then. And the queerest thing was 
about a Baldwin apple I took from a fellow once, — he was a little chap — 
and lame ; had crooked legs ; poor, too. He left it in his satchel, — I 
could n't seem to get over that Baldwin apple, to think I took it 

"Jill!" said I. 

" O dear me ! " sobbed Jill. 

We were both crying by that time. I don't feel ashamed to own up, as 
far as /'m concerned. 

"If I 'd known," said I, " that the Day of Judgment was coming on the 
1 2th of August, I wouldn't have been so mean about that jack-knife of 
yours with the notch in it ! " 

" And I would n't have eaten up your luncheon that day last winter when 
I got mad at you," said Jill. 

" Nor we would n't have cheated mother about smoking vacations," said I. 

" I 'd never have played with the Bailey boys out behind the barn ! " said JUL 

" I wonder where the comet went to," said I. 

" * Whether we shall be plunged,' " quoted Jill, in a horrible whisper, from 
that dreadful newspaper, — " ' shall be plunged into a wild vortex of angry 
space — or suffocated with noxious gases — or scorched to a helpless crisp, 
or blasted— ' " 

" When do you suppose they '11 come after us ? " I interrupted Jill. 

That very minute somebody came. We heard a step, and then another. 
Then a heavy bang. Jill howled out a little. I did n't, for I was thinking 
how the cellar door banged like that. 

Then came a voice, — an awful, hoarse, and trembling voice, as ever you *d 
want to hear. " George Zacharias ! " 

Then I knew it must be the Judgment Day, and that the Angel had me 
up in court to answer him. For you could n't expect an angel to call you 
Jack when you were dead. 

" George Zacharias ! " said the awful voice again. I did n't know what 
else to do, I was so frightened, so I just hollered out, " Here 1" as I do at 
school. 

" Timothy ! " came the voice once more. 

Now Jill had a bright idea. Up he shouted, " Absent ! " at the top of 
his lungs. 

" George ! Jack ! Jill ! Where are you ? Are you killed? O, wait a 
minute, and I '11 bring a light I " 



1873] When t 227 

This did n't sound so much like Judgment Day asv^it did like Aunt John. 
I began to feel better. So did Jill. I sat up. So did he. It was n't a 
minute before the light came into sight, — and something that looked like the 
cellar door, the cellar stairs, and Aunt John's spotted wrapper, and Miss 
Togy in a nightgown, away behind, as white as a ghost. Aunt John held 
the light above ber head, and looked down. She had her hand above 
her eyes to shield them. 1 don't believe I shall ever see an angel that will 
make me feel any better to look at than Aunt John did that night. 

" O you blessed boys ! " said Aunt John, — she was laughing and crying 
together. " To think that you should have fallen through the old chimney 
to the cellar floor, and be sitting there alive in such a funny heap as that i " 

That was just what we had done. The old flooring — not very secure — 
had given way in the storm ; and we'd gone down through two stories, 
where the chimney ought to have been, jam ! into the cellar on the coal- 
heap, and all as good as ever, except the bedstead ! 

And if it had n't been true upon my word and honor, I would n't have 
toklit 

Elinabtth Stuart Phelps. 



WHEN? 

"'T'ELL me, when will the mayflowers come? 
J- When will the wild brooks begin to run ? 
When will they frolic, and cease to be dumb ? " 
When they feel the warm touch of the sun. 

"When will the grasses show their shoots? 
When will the violets open again ? " 
As soon as they feel within their roots 
The pulse of the soft spring rain ! 

" When will the crocus push through the mould ? 
When will the robins begin to build? 
When will the cinnamon-rose unfold 

Till half of its fragrance is spilled ? 

" When will the snow and the crystal rime 
Vanish, and leave the brown earth bare?" 
Patience, dear child, in the Lord's own time 
The spring blossoms everywhere ! 

Mary N. Prescctt 



228 A Talk about the Telegraph, [April, 



A TALK ABOUT THE TELEGRAPH. 

" QEE here ! " said Mr. Leslie to the young people, one evening after tea, 

^ as they gathered "around the evening lamp 1 '; " do you know what 
this is ? " As he spoke, he took from his pocket and laid upon the table 
an envelope containing a strip of white paper about an inch wide and several 
inches in length. 

The children examined the paper eagerly, but could see nothing worthy 
of note about it, except that there was a line of slight colorless marks and 
dots lengthwise of the strip, not very plain in the lamplight, but looking 
as if made by some pointed instrument pressed at intervals upon the paper. 

" I should think it was a piece of ribbon-paper, only for those marks," 
said Ada. 

" Do those little marks mean anything, father?" asked Charley. 

" They do ; and that slip of paper, which looks so worthless, is a very 
valuable one to me," was the reply. " It is a telegraphic despatch from your 
Uncle John, in Washington, about an important matter of business which 
I asked him to attend to." 

The children all scrutinized it again with renewed interest 

"Why ! did that come all the way from Washington by the telegraph?" 
asked little Willie, with wondering eyes. "How can they send letters, 
through the wires, when they are so small ? " 

Mr. Leslie explained that the paper did not come from Washington, and 
that neither letters nor anything else that can be seen is sent through or on 
the wires, as many people think, but that a man in Washington or any 
other city can make marks on paper at a great distance off, by means of 
the wires and electricity, and that these marks can be read like the writing 
in a letter. 

" But there is nothing like words or letters on this," said Charley. " I 
don't see how you can find any meaning to it." 

"If you look closely," replied Mr. Leslie, " you will see that the little marks 
are separated by spaces into groups, and these again by larger spaces into 
larger groups. The smaller groups stand for letters of the alphabet, and 
the larger ones form words. It is not usual for telegraph clerks to deliver 
messages in this form, they write them out for us in the common style ; 
but I obtained this in order to show it to you just as it was written by the 
telegraphic instrument. There are but two words in this despatch, besides 
the date and name. I will write underneath these marks the letters for 
which they stand, and then all will be plain." 

The following is a copy of the despatch, omitting the date, with the trans- 
lation below : — 



A 1 1 



1873-] A Talk about the Telegraph. 229 

" Why ! is that the way telegraphic messages are written ? " exclaimed 
Lizzie, with much surprise. "I thought people went to the office at one 
end of the line, and somehow, by means of the wire, wrote what they wanted 
to at the other end, in their own handwriting. But I never could imagine 
how they did it" 

u That cannot be done by any telegraph yet invented, though an ingen- 
ious Frenchman has contrived one by which a person's handwriting, or 
even a picture, can be exactly copied at the distant station. But it is so 
complicated and delicate that it has not yet come into very extensive 
use. 

44 Now you will see that it is only necessary to have different combinations 
of dots or hyphens and lines, like those on this despatch, to stand for every 
letter of the alphabet, and for each of the numerals and the punctuation- 
marks, and then by means of them any kind of a message can be written. 
This is the way the Morse Telegraphic Alphabet is made. It was invented 
by Professor Morse of this country, and is used by all the telegraphic 
machines that bear his name. The clerk was so kind as to give me a card 
containing a copy of this alphabet" 

Mr. Leslie here exhibited a card on which were printed the following 
characters, for the use of telegraph operators : — 

Morse Telegraphic Alphabet. 

a — h o - - v 

b i -- p w 

c--- j q x 

d k r - -- y -- -- 

c - I s --- z --- - 

f — m t — & 

g n — u % 

Numerals. 



2 5 8 

3 6 9 

Punctuation-marks, &c. 
? " " . 

I ()_ 



After studying this card for some minutes, Charley remarked, "Well, it 
seems easy enough to read a despatch after one has learned the alphabet ; 
but the next thing that puzzles me is, how can a man in Washington make 
these little marks exactly right at such a distance off? Some of them, that 
stand for different letters, are almost alike, and if they 're not made very 
carefully, mistakes must happen." 

" Mistakes do sometimes happen," said his father, *'but these are guarded 
against by repeating the message when it is of importance ; that is, the 



2y> A Talk about the Telegraph. [April, 

clerk who receives it telegraphs the same back to the sender, who informs 
him whether it is correct, before it is delivered. There is a telegraph, how- 
ever, which is used to a considerable extent in this country, which prints 
despatches in the common alphabet, so that they can be read by any one ; 
but its machinery is very complicated, and not easily explained. It was 
invented by Mr. Hughes. The machinery of the Morse telegraph, by which 
this despatch was written, is, like its alphabet, quite simple and easily 
understood ; and it is not difficult to work it with accuracy when one is 
familiar with it. But before you can understand it, you must know some- 
thing more about electricity, and the curious ways in which that force acts. 

" You will remember that in our last talk 1 showed you how electricity 
might be produced by rubbing various substances together, — that is, by 
friction; also how it causes some substances to attract others. The electric 
force produced by friction, however, while very powerful, is quite unsteady ; 
it acts in sudden impulses, like the flashes of lightning, which cannot be 
well managed, and are attended with danger. Another way has been found 
to produce electric force of a kind that is steady and constant in its action, 
and easily manageable." 

"It seems, then, to be like horses and other animals," interposed Charley, 
— " some kinds wild and dangerous, and others tame and useful But tell us 
where they get the tame kind. 1 ' 

* It has been found," continued Mr. Leslie, " that when certain metals 
are placed in an acid, the acid dissolves, or, as we sometimes say, eats up 
the metal, and in this process a kind of electricity is given off that is called 
chemical electricity, or galvanism. This was first discovered about eighty 
years ago, by Professor Galvani, in Italy, and hence its name. The metal 
usually employed for this purpose is zinc, and the acid most used is sul- 
phuric acid, otherwise known as oil of vitriol. This acid is very powerful ; 
if you should get a drop on your clothes or your hand, it would burn like 
fire, and hence it must be used very carefully. 

" When employed for the purpose we are speaking of, the acid is usually 
kept in glass cups or jars, and is made weak by diluting it with water. If 
into a jar of this acid a plate of zinc is inserted, together with a piece of 
copper or some other good electric conductor, so placed as not to touch 
the zinc, and then the two connected above by a piece of copper wire, it is 
found that a gentle current of electricity begins at once to pass from the 
zinc to the copper through the fluid, and back from the copper through the 
wire to the zinc. This continues steadily as long as the acid continues to 
dissolve the zinc, and until the metal is all 'eaten up.' Then a new plate 
may be inserted, and so the supply kept up as long as is desired, 

" By placing two or more such jars side by side, and joining by wire the 
copper in one to the zinc in the next, and the copper of the last to the 
zinc in the first, a much stronger current is produced, though equally steady. 
These cups, or jars, are called cells, and two or more of them joined together 
as described form what is called a battery. The two extremes, where the 
force seems to collect, are called the poles of the battery ; the copper one, 



I873-] A Talk about the Telegraph. 231 

from which the current is given offj is the positive pole; and the zinc one, 
where it is received, is the negative? 

" But," said Charley, " if the electricity goes back from the copper to the 
zinc, and so only goes round and round through the battery, I don't see how 
any use can be made of it." 

" Wait a bit, and you shall see. The wire which extends from the posi- 
tive to the negative pole of a battery may be made as long as you please- 
It may stretch to a distant city and back again, or even around the earth, 
and — provided it is well insulated, that is, placed so that the electricity 
shall not be drawn off anywhere — the current will pass through the whole 
length just as well and almost as quickly as if it were but a yard long." 

" Why, father ! " exclaimed Lizzie, " my geography says it is nearly twen- 
ty-five thousand miles around the earth. You surely don't mean to say that 
electricity can go that distance about as quickly as it can go three feet ! " 

" I doubt if you could tell the difference in time," was the reply. " The 
electric impulse moves at the rate of two hundred thousand miles in a 
second, and that is more than eight times the distance around our globe. 
Hence it would take but one eighth of a second for a current to pass around 
the earth. Few people can think twice in that time. 

" But I must give you some idea how this current can be used in sending 
messages. Suppose we had a battery here in this room, and a wire con- 
necting with its positive pole, but extending through all the rooms in this 
house and back again to the negative pole. Such a wire would form what 
is called a circuit, and so long as it was kept unbroken, the battery being 
in operation, a current of electricity would constantly pass through its entire 
length. If this wire should be cut anywhere, and the ends separated even 
so little as the sixteenth of an inch, the current would instantly stop ; yet, 
if these ends were merely touched together again, the current would be 
restored at once. 

"Now I have to tell you some curious and important facts which you 
must remember. Any wire through which an electric current is passing 
becomes for the time magnetic, *— that is, it will draw some things to it, just 
as we saw the electrified glass draw bits of paper ; and it ceases to be 
magnetic the instant the current ceases. But the attractive power of a 
single electrified wire is very slight, — not sufficient, probably, to be made 
useful for the purpose required. But just here another curious and still 
more important fact comes to our aid. If the wire be wound several times 
around a bar of soft iron, — the wire itself having first been carefully wound 
with silk or cotton thread, so that its turns shall not touch each other, — 
this iron becomes strongly magnetic while the current is passing in the wire, 
but ceases to attract the instant the current stops. Such a bar of iron is 
called an electro-magnet. It is usually bent in the form of the letter U, 
and the wire is coiled around the two ends. Professor Henry, of Washing- 
ton, once made a magnet in this way which would lift more than a ton by 
mere attraction, that is, by electro-magnetism.* 

• In M A Talk about the Aurova," printed in the December number of " Our Yonng Folks," 187a, 



232 



A Talk about the Telegraph. 



[April, 




Electro-magnet loaded with Weight*. 



" Suppose, now, we had a 
small magnet, made in this 
way, fixed in the line I spoke 
of, in the farthest chamber 
in this house; then, if I 
were to close and break the 
circuit here, and you were in 
that chamber, you might in- 
stantly know when I did 
this, by suspending a small 
piece of iron near the mag- 
net When the circuit was 
closed and the current pass- 
ing, the iron would be strong- 
ly drawn to the magnet ; but 
when the circuit was broken, 
the attraction would instant- 
ly cease, and the iron fall 
away from the magnet This 
could be done as rapidly or 
as slowly as I chose. And 
it would make no difference 
if the line extended to a distant city instead of to another room in this 
house. Now, Charley, having got so far as this, do you not think we could 
arrange some signals by which to communicate with each other ? " 

Charley thought this was possible to a small extent, but did not yet see 
exactly how such marks could be made as were necessary to spell words 
and sentences. 

"We will see how that can be done presently," continued Mr. Leslie. 
" I have now given you the entire principle on which the Morse and most 
other telegraphs operate. // is simply by means of the attractive power 
which electricity imparts to metals, and which may be instantly imparted 
or withdrawn. So you see that the only thing sent over or through the 
wire is an electric impulse or thrill, which causes magnetic attraction." 

" O yes ! " exclaimed Charley, struck by a new idea. " I have heard the 
wires hum sometimes when I have been near them. That must have been 
the electricity passing through them." 

"Not at all," replied his father; "the electric current makes no sound 
or sensible motion in the wire. The humming sound you heard was merely 
caused by the wind making the wire vibrate rapidly, like the strings of an 
iEolian harp. 

" Now, as to the means of communicating words and sentences. We first 
want some convenient way of breaking and closing the circuit, or of sep- 
arating and joining the wire after it leaves the battery, so that this can be 



electro-magnetism was, by a singular inadvertence, spoken of as a phase of atmospheric electricity. 
The term correctly applies only to the magnetic force developed in metals by electricity. 



I873-] 



A Talk about the Telegraph. 



»33 




Morse's Manipulator. 



done instantly, and held either way as long as we choose. For this a very 
simple piece of mechanism is sufficient. A small lever, made of brass or 
any good conducting material, with a wooden knob at one end on which to 
press the finger, and a spring underneath to raise it when the pressure is 
removed, will answer the purpose. 
The wire from the battery " 
[marked L in the accompanying 
illustration] "is connected with 
the lever at its fulcrum, — that is, 
the part on which the lever rests, 
— and between the fulcrum and 1 
the knob underneath is a metallic | 
point connected with the wire of ^ 
the line through which the mes- 
sage is to be sent " [marked P} 
" When the finger bears down on the knob, the bar of the lever is made to 
touch this metallic point, and this joins the circuit, so that the current 
passes ; but the instant the finger is lifted the spring lifts the bar, breaks 
the circuit, and stops the current This instrument is called a key, or ma- 
nipulator, and it is all that is required in sending a message by the Morse 
telegraph. 

" Next, we want an instrument to receive and record the message at the 
station to which it is sent. For this purpose another little lever may be 
arranged so that one end of it, to which a piece of soft iron must be at- 
tached, — because soft iron is attracted more strongly than anything else, — 
shall be near the electro-magnet already described, and the other end, armed 
with a small point called a style, shall rest lightly against a strip of paper. 

When the operator, 
using the key, sends 
a current through 
the wire, the mag- 
net attracts the iron 
on the end of this 
lever, drawing it to 
itself, and causing 
the opposite end to 
press the style upon 
the paper. Now, 
let the paper be 
moved steadily for- 
ward, and the style 
will trace a mark 
on it as long as the 
current is passing. 
If the distant operator presses his hand quickly on the key, and instantly 
withdraws it, a mere dot or hyphen will be made ; but if he holds the lever 




Receiving Apparatus, 



234 



A Talk about the Telegraph. 



[April, 



down for any length of time, a line, shorter or longer, as he pleases, is 
traced, just as you have seen on the despatch. The paper is moved for- 
ward by being drawn between two rollers turned by clock-work. In this 
way the telegrapher makes these curious little marks which stand for letters, 
and spells out words and sentences many miles away. 

" How very simple and easy it seems, when you once understand it ! " 
remarked Ada. " I really believe I could learn to be a telegrapher myself." 

" Many young ladies have learned the art, and are very expert operators," 
said her father. 

" But 1 have heard,*' she continued, " that telegraphers can understand 
messages by merely listening to the sound of the instrument Is that 
true?" 

"It is. The iron on the end of the writing lever, which is called the 
armature, when it strikes the magnet makes a peculiar clicking sound ; and 
when the operator becomes sufficiently familiar with this, he does not need 
to look at the paper to know what is being written." 

Charley, who had been intently revolving the whole subject in his mind, 
with a view to constructing a telegraph for his own amusement some day, 
now had another question to propose : "Do I understand, father, that the 
line which goes to a distant station must always return to the opposite pole 
of the battery from which it starts ? " 

"That was once supposed to be necessary," replied Mr. Leslie, "and 
the first telegraphs were constructed with ' return wires.' But it was after- 
wards found that the earth is a still better conductor than the wire ; and 




Telegraph Station. 



I873-] 4 Talk about the Telegraph. 235 

it is only necessary to carry the end of the wire to a zinc plate sunk in the 
moist earth, and to connect the zinc pole of the battery with a copper plate 
sunk in the same way. This is a great saving of expense. Still more 
recently it has been found that the wire may just as well be attached to a 
common gas or iron water-pipe, which is often already at hand in an office. 
Thus you see constant discoveries and improvements are being made, and 
no one can tell where they will end 

" Besides the manipulator, or key, and the receiver," continued Mr. Leslie, 
" some other instruments are usually employed in a telegraph station. Here 
is a picture in this little book, * showing them all. 

44 You see the wire of the line (L) entering the room on the wall in the rear, 
and leaving on the opposite side. It passes down and first enters a very 
curious instrument called a lightning conductor, which is intended to carry 
off any charges of electricity that may come from the clouds in a storm, 
so that they shall do no harm ; next, the line passes through another curious 
instrument, called a galvanometer (seen under a glass case, at the right), 
which shows the strength of the current; then through the manipulator 
(seen at the right, in front), which, when not in use for sending a message, 
becomes a part of the line. From this the line connects with the receiver, 
which is shown, with its magnet, lever, style, and strip of paper. The 
paper unwinds from the bobbin suspended above, passes between two 
rollers, where it receives the message, — one of these rollers having a slight 
groove in the centre, so that the style may make a deeper impression, — and 
then is wound upon another bobbin, at the left (not shown). Below the roll- 
ers, a little to the left, is seen the key by which the clock-work enclosed in the 
box is wound up. At the left, in the rear, is a bell, which may be connected 
with the line, so as to be rung to call attention by a distant operator, when 
he wishes to send a message. The wire seen at P, in the right-hand corner, 
connects with the battery, but is detached from the manipulator when this is 
not in use." 

"Does lightning from the clouds often enter the telegraph-offices?" 
asked Charley. 

" Quite often, in the season of thunder-storms ; and it frequently shows 
its presence in the wires when no storm-cloud is in sight Sometimes, when 
appearing in small quantities, it can be used in sending messages instead of 
electricity from the battery ; but when the atmosphere is strongly charged 
with it, it causes much disturbance, and would be dangerous to both the 
instruments and the operators, were it not for the lightning conductors used. 
These instruments, when the atmospheric electricity becomes unmanageable, 
will separate it from the more staid and docile current of the battery, and 
send it galloping into the earth, leaving the battery current to work on in 
the line of its duty." 

" Do tell us about this conductor," said the children, in a breath. " It 
must be a very curious affair." 

♦ See " Wooden of Electricity/' a highly instructive volume of the " Wonder Series," published 
by Scriboer, Armstrong, & Co., New York. 



236 



A Talk about the TeUgraph. 



[April, 



" I have already told you that the electricity of the clouds is of a some- 
what different nature from that of the battery. One of its peculiarities is, 
that it is attracted by metallic points, and will readily leap across a thin 
space of air to such points, while the battery current cannot do this. Be- 
sides, the lightning, when in any considerable quantity, will melt a small wire 
in attempting to pass through it, though this wire would be amply sufficient 
to conduct a battery current. Advantage has been taken of these facts to 
construct an apparatus, the principle of which is illustrated in this sketch." 

Here Mr. Leslie exhibited a picture of a lightning-rod, such as is some- 
times used in connection with railway telegraphs. 

" The wire of the line (L) is connected with a plate 
of metal (P) furnished with many points, which make it 
■ look like a comb. Opposite this plate, and very near 
it, is another of the same shape, communicating direct- 
ly with the earth (through the wire T). The lightning, 
entering on the wire, passes into the first of these 
plates, leaps across the space to the points of the sec- 
ond, and so escapes to the earth. But the electricity 
of the battery cannot make this leap, and so it con- 
tinues on the route, passing into a very small copper 
wire enclosed in a brass tube below, and thence to the 
instruments. If the lightning comes in too large quan- 
tities to escape by the points, it is conducted along 
this fine copper wire, which quickly melts. This closes 
the passage, and no more can pass to the instruments. 
But telegraphers have to be very cautious, and if there 
Lightning Conductor, is much electrical disturbance in the atmosphere, they 
turn the whole current into the ground, and wait until the storm has passed. 
" There are still other and very ingenious ways of using electricity in 
telegraphy. One is by the dial telegraph, which is becoming quite com- 
mon in business offices. On the face of a box containing the apparatus 
there is a dial-plate surrounded by letters and figures, and a needle 
that points to them. A 
current of electricity is 
arranged to let loose the 
clock-work inside, until it 
carries the index around to 
the letter or figure at which 
the operator wishes to 
stop it. There is such a 
box and dial at each end of 
the line ; the apparatus is 
worked at either end, and 
read at the other. Anoth-H 

er method is— ButlthinkB 
,, u 11 :n (£& 



I have told you all you will % 
remember for this time." 





Telegraphic Dial. 



1873.] The Sleepy Little Sister. 237 

" Will you some time please tell us about electrotyping y and how forks, 
spoons, jewelry, and other things, can be covered with silver or gold by 
means of electricity ? " asked Ada. 

" With pleasure ; but I must now bid you all good night" 

N. A. Eliot. 



THE SLEEPY LITTLE SISTER. 

I SAT, one evening, watching 
A little golden head 
That was nodding o'er a picture-book; 

And pretty soon I said, 
"Come, darling, you are sleepy, 

Don't you want to go to bed?" 
"No," she said, "I isn't sleepy, 
But I can't hold up my head." 

"Just now it feels so heavy, 

There is n't .any use ; 
Do let me lay it down to rest 

On dear old Mother Goose ! 
I sha' n't shut up my eyes at all, 

And so you need not fear ; 
I *11 keep 'em open, all the while, 

T6 see this picture here." 

And then, as I said nothing, 

She settled for a nap ; 
One curl was resting on the frill 

Of the old lady's cap ; 
Her arms embraced the children small 

Inhabiting the shoe ; — 
"O dear," thought I, "what shall I say? 

For this will never do." 

I sat awhile in silence, 

Till the clock struck its "ding; ding," 
And then I went around and kissed 

The cunning little thing. 
The violets unfolded 

As I kissed her, and she said, 
" I is n't sleepy, sister, 

But I guess I '11 go to bed." 

Georgiana McNeil. 



23$ Nannie's Experience. [April, 



NANNIE'S EXPERIENCE. 

" T THINK," said little Nannie Mason, "you are such a cross mamma, 

-L that I shall go away some day and leave you, and never come back any 
more, and then you won't have any little girl." 

This was Nannie's favorite threat when anything went contrary to her 
wishes. 

" Why, Nannie, what 's the matter now ? " asked her father, lowering his 
newspaper, and looking over it at the forlorn little figure seated on the 
hassock. 

" Mary Carr asked me to come over and spend the afternoon with her, 
and mamma won't let me go," said Nannie, mournfully. " Mamma wants 
me to play out in the yard with Willie. I am so tired of Willie ! I have to 
play with him every Wednesday afternoon. And I don't love mamma one 
bit." And Nannie shook her curly head with great decision. 

"Dear me, Nannie! Don't love mamma one bit? How dreadful!" 
said her father. " Some little girls don't have any mammas to love. What 
do you think you could do, if you did not have any mamma ? " 

Nannie's face brightened. " O," said she, promptly, " I could put on my 
best dress and my bronze boots every afternoon." 

Mr. Mason raised his paper to conceal the smile he could not quite 
repress. Presently he lowered the paper and went on : " You Said just now, 
Nannie, that some time you would go away and never come back, any more. 
Where are you going ?" 

Nannie sat in thoughtful silence for a minute. " I should go out to Mr. 
West's farm, I guess," said she. " When we were out there, they asked me 
to stay and be their little girl ; and Mr. West said I might have the cunning 
little chickens all for my own." 

" O yes, I had forgotten all about that," said her father. " Well, Nannie, 
this is a very nice afternoon. If you are going at all, why don't you go to- 
day?" 

" O, may I ? " said Nannie, eagerly. 

" If you had rather go out there to live and be their little girl, than to live 
here and be our little girl, you may go," said her father, gravely. 

" And may I wear my new dress and bronze boots ? " said Nannie, jump- 
ing up. 

" May she, mamma ? " said Mr. Mason. 

" I shall not interfere with any of your arrangements," said Mrs. Mason, 
who sat sewing by the window. 

So Nannie presently arrayed herself in her new dress and boots, and her 
father, though somewhat unused to the work, managed to fasten the dress 
and button the high boots. 

" I shall want my old dress and ankle-ties to put on in the morning, you 
know," said Nannie, thoughtfully, as she put on her hat 



1 873.] Nannies Experience. 239 

" Very well, you can take them in your satchel, said her father. " But I 
think we shall have to ask mamma to fold the dress," he said, alter various 
unsuccessful attempts to reduce it to the size of the satcheL 

Mrs. Mason laid aside her sewing and folded the dress. " I suppose," 
she said, "if you are Mrs. West's little girl, she will make your clothes now. 
But she can send in by Mr. West for some of your old clothes, if you need 
them before she has time to make you any new ones." 

"Thank you. Yes'm," said Nannie, with severe politeness. She was 
still cherishing the anger against her mother. 

She put the satchel on her arm. She was ready to set out, but she lin- 
gered beside her father. " I wish you were going too, papa ! " she said. 

" Why should I go?" asked Mr. Mason. "I love mamma dearly, and 
don't want to go away and leave her ; and I am not tired of Willie." 

Nannie hesitated a minute. Then suddenly she said, " Good by, papa," 
putting up her face to be kissed. 

Mr. Mason kissed her. Then Nannie ran past her mother without a 
word, out of the room and out of the house, down the steps and down the 
street She knew the way very well out to Mr. West's farm. She had been 
by it often, and once she bad been there to tea with her father and mother 
and Willie. Nannie and Willie had a very nice time playing with the little 
chickens and making nests in the fresh, sweet hay. But now, as Nannie 
went along, she did not feel very happy, although she did have on « her nice 
dress and bronze boots. She had not ' said good by to her mother, nor 
kissed her ; and she could not help thinking how disappointed Willie would 
be when he awoke from his after-dinner nap and found her gone. Then the 
dust would get on the pretty bronze boots, though she stooped and wiped 
them again and again, until her handkerchief got quite soiled. And the bag 
on her arm grew very heavy, and there was nobody to carry it for her. 
Nannie had never taken such a long walk alone before. And the sun was 
so warm that Nannie's face grew quite damp with perspiration, and she 
wiped it 0$ quite unaware of the streaks the soiled handkerchief left. So a 
good many things troubled Nannie ; and, worst of all, when she had almost 
reached Mrs. West's, a big black dog ran barking out of a yard at her, and 
Nannie was dreadfully frightened, but she could not run behind her mother 
for shelter, nor cling to her father's hand. Poor Nannie ! She screamed, 
but there was nobody to hear her, and in her terror she ran on as fast 
as possible. As soon as she dared she looked back, and saw the dog 
standing still in the middle of the road, looking after her. And at that she 
ran on faster than ever. 

When she reached Mrs. West's house, she ran round the yard and into 
the back door quite out of breath. Mrs. West was sitting in the kitchen, 
braiding a mat 

" If you please," said Nannie, as soon as her panting breath would admit 
of her speaking, " I have come — to be your — little girl." 

" Wei, I never ! " exclaimed Mrs. West, looking over her glasses in great 
astonishment, pausing in her work and steadfastly regarding the grimy little 



240 Nannies Experience. [April, 

visage under the broad-brimmed hat " If that don't beat all ! What 's 
your name, little girl ? " 

Somehow, this was not just the sort of welcome that Nannie had expected. 
She said, with quivering lips, " Vm Nannie Mason. You asked me to be 
your little girl ! " 

" Nannie Mason ! Land's sake alive ! I declare, I did not know you," 
said Mrs. West, now adjusting her specs so that she could look straight 
through them. " Did your ma say you might come and see me this after- 
noon ? " 

" Papa said I might come and be your little girl," said Nannie. " I have 
got my old dress and ankle-ties in my bag, and mamma said you could send 
for some of my old clothes if you wanted them." 

" Well, I declare ! " said Mrs. West, " I never heard of such a thing in my 
life." Just then somebody rapped at the front door, and Mrs. West, laying 
aside her work and bidding Nannie sit down, went to answer the summons. 
It was one of Mr. Mason's clerks, who held a short conference with Mrs. 
West 

She presently came back to the kitchen, smiling. " So you have come to 
live with me, Nannie," she said. " I am very glad, I am sure. It will seem 
nice to have a little girl about the house. Take off your hat, dear, and let 
me wash your face, for it has got very dusty with your walk, and if anybody 
should come in, I should not want them to think my little girl had a dirty 
face, you know.' 1 

Nannie did not like very well to have her face washed at any time. Some- 
times, I am sorry to say, she would cry when her mother washed her. She 
found Mrs. West's scrubbing and wiping with the rough crash towel very 
different from her mamma's gentle touch. But Nannie did not dare td say 
anything. 

After Nannie had rested a little while, she ran out to see the chickens. 
But, to her great disappointment, she found that the cunning little puff-balls, 
that flew over the grass so comically when she saw them last, were now 
half-grown, scraggy, long-legged hens, that were not in the least pretty. 
She did not like them any more. Then she went through a gate to pick 
some blackberries growing by the wall, and she got a berry-stain on her 
dress and a long scratch across one of her new boots. Besides, there was 
no fun in picking berries when she could not give any to Willie. And 
Nannie could not help thinking of Willie, and wishing she had kissed her 
mamma. Then she wondered where she would sleep, and ran into the 
house to ask Mrs. West. 

Mrs. West went up stairs with her, and showed her a little chamber. It 
was a room with a sloping ceiling and without paper on the walls, and it 
seemed very strange to Nannie. She did not like the queer, cross-legged 
little bedstead with the patchwork quilt It was not half so nice as the 
white-draped bed Nannie had slept in the night before ; and she felt afraid 
the /sloping wall would fall down on her while she slept She looked 
very sober as she followed Mrs. West down stairs. 



1 873.] Nanntts Experience. 241 

Dear me ! It was such a long afternoon ; and Nannie could not help 
thinking of her mother, and how she had said she did not love her one bit, 
and had run away without kissing her ; and the tears would keep coming in 
her eyes. And when it grew dusk and supper was ready, Nannie could not 
eat anything. She could not even drink the cup of nice milk Mrs. West 
gave her. 

" O dear," she sobbed, leaning her arms on the table and her head on 
her arms, " I don't want to be your little girl and live here ! I want to be 
my mamma's little girl, and sleep in my own bed." 

" Bless her heart ! She should not stay if she did not want to," said Mrs. 
West, lifting her into her lap and cuddling her in her arms. " Don't cry 
any more, dear ; you shall go home and see your mother this very night" 

But Nannie only cried and sobbed the harder. " It 's da-ark and I 'm 
afra-aid to go. A big black do-og barked at me when I ca-ame out here." 

" There, there, dear, don't cry, and Joshua shall tackle up and carry you 
home in the wagon after supper. And just think what a nice ride you will 
have. So cheer up and eat some supper." 

But Nannie could not eat any supper ; and though she was glad to get 
borne, she did not enjoy the ride very much, for she felt very miserable and 
homesick. When she reached home, I am afraid she forgot to thank Mr. 
West for her ride, so eager was she to run into the house and find her 
mamma. 

" O mamma ! " she cried, with the tears running down her face, " won't 
you let me come back to live and be your little girl ? 1 11 be your good 
little girl forever nor ever." And when she was safely sheltered in her 
mamma's arms, and confessing all her grief and remorse, she began to feel a 
little better. 

Pretty soon Nannie's father came home. " Bless my soul ! " said he, "is 
Mr. West's little girl over here to-night ?" 

Nannie lifted her curly head from her mother's breast, and laughed through 
her tears. " I 'm not Mr. West's little girl," she said j "lam my own pre- 
cious mamma's and yours, and I am going to live here and play with my 
darling Willie." 

" O, I thought you were tired of Willie ! " 

Nannie in answer slipped down from her mamma's lap and hugged and 
kissed Willie till he pushed her away. Willie was only two years old, and 
though he loved Nannie dearly, he did not like to be hugged and kissed 
very long at a time. 

I wish I could say that always after that Nannie Mason was such a good 
little girl that she did without complaint what her mother thought best 

It must be confessed that sometimes her own way did seem to her a great 
deal nicer than her mother's. But of one thing you may be sure, she never 
again told her mother that she would go away and leave her. She had 
learned that her mother could do without her better than she could do 
without her mother. 

Sarah G. Duley. 

vol. rx. — no. rv. 16 




WHAT THE FAIRY TOLD ME. 



Aunt Betsey was inexorable. In vain did I plead to be excused on the ground 
that it was such a beautiful day it seemed a pity to stay in the house and sew. 

" Marion Starr," said Aunt Betsey, impressively, "that seam has got to be sewed 
this very afternoon, and no two ways about it. You 're gaddin' round outdoors the 
hull time, an' when I tell you to do somethin' useful, there 's always an excuse not 
to. Now, don't let me hear another word." 

After that, as you might imagine, I kept still, for I did n't want to make Aunt 
Betsey cross, and have all the phials of her wrath poured out on my defenceless head. 
But I could n't stay in the house such lovely weather, so I took my work and went 
down to what we called the intervale, — a wide sweep of level land, covered with long, 
thick grass, and having several large trees at the side, under one of which I sat down. 
I began my work, stopping every now and then to look round at the beautiful prospect 
spread out before me, and to watch the grass undulating like the ocean waves as 
the breeze swept across the meadow. I was congratulating myself upon having so 
nearly reached the end of my seam, when I saw a sight that caused me to drop my 
work very quickly. Close at my feet, on a blade of grass, sat a tiny fairy, all in 
green, swinging to and fro as the grass moved. All doubts as to whether I was really 
awake were soon dispelled by her voice. 

" Dear me ! " said she, settling herself more firmly upon her rocking seat, " one 
would think you never saw any of my race before, and yet here you have lived among 
us year after year. I am one of the grass-fairies. Is it possible," she continued, 
seeing my look of astonishment, " that you never knew that every blade of grass has 
a fairy to take care of it? " 

I looked my ignorance, and begged her to enlighten me on the subject 

" In the first place you must know," said she, " that when grass comes up out 
of the ground it is very tender, and must be well taken care of. That is the business 
of us fairies. Perhaps you have sometimes noticed the fine silky hairs which you 
find on grass. Every day we count these hairs, and, when night comes, each fairy 
bathes her blade of grass in the refreshing dew. If the night is too cool, we wrap 
our clothes around the tender sprout to keep it warm, and we also shield it from the 
hot midday sun. But, in spite of all our trouble, sometimes Jack Frost comes upon 
us unawares, and nips the delicate green spires so that they perish*" Here the fairy 
sighed as at some sad remembrance, but continued, after a short pause, " No doubt 
you have often noticed what you thought was the breeze blowing over the grass. Not 
at all. That is the fairies dancing and courtesying to each other, and the rustling 
noise you hear is their voices as they talk together. You mortals are very unkind to 



1 873.] Our Young Contributors. 243 

us sometimes, though you may not know it Every few weeks a man comes along 
with some sharp instrument, and recklessly cuts down blade after blade of this beau- 
tiful grass. Then what a busy time for the fairies, with all the wounds to bind up, 
and so many patients to take care of ! No sooner are they recovered and growing 
finely, than the same process must be gone through with again. It's well that 
grass does n't grow all the year round, or we should be quite worn out As it is, we 
sleep all winter underground, where it is very comfortable as a general thing. But, 
after all, the life of a grass-fairy is a hard one, whatever may be said in favor of it, 
and — " 

" Bless me, child ! " cried my Aunt Betsey ; " you 11 catch your death-cold, asleep 
out here on the grass. Go right straight into the 110086." 

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Was it possible that I had been dreaming! I 
looked around, but no fairy was to be seen ; so I came unwillingly to the conclusion 
that I had been asleep, and had heard no voice save that of Aunt Betsey, which was 
certainly anything batfairy-like. 

Marion Siarr. 

OUR PRINTING-OFFICE IN THE WOODS. 

Few printers, I think, have ever plied their vocation amid more beautiful scenery 
than that which surrounded our Texas printing-office. It stood on the summit of a 
wooded hill, almost completely encircled by a narrow prairie, leaving a few large 
trees to crown the elevation ; the little prairie forming an excellent playground, as 
I often found after work hours. 

Look to the east as you stand by our office, and you catch a glimpse, between the 
waving branches, of a collection of buildings a mile distant, and just visible above 

the gentle swell of the intervening hilL That is B , our post-office town. There 

some one of us used to go at least twice every week for our '• exchanges " and other 
mail matter ; and to the coming of none of our papers or magazines did we look 
forward so eagerly as to the monthly visits of " Our Young Folks." 

Looking southward, your eye follows the windings of a little " spring branch," until 
it is lost among the trees and undergrowth two miles away. Farther on, a dense 
forest stretches far away over the country, its southern boundary occasionally broken 
by inlets from the great prairie beyond, which reaches to the horizon and melts in 
air. In the foreground a line of magnificent oaks, a part of our own grove, their 
moss-festooned tops standing out in bold relief against the sky, enliven the monot- 
ony of an otherwise unbroken southern horizon. 

On the north and east a luxuriant growth of forest trees sheltered us from the 
fierce "northers" of the Texas winter, while the half-open country for a space to 
the south gave free access to the Gulf breeze, which at that distance from the coast 
is mild and gentle. The summer wind sang softly among the mossy boughs, and 
the mocking-bird's light-hearted music was sweet to hear. 

These gay little tenants of the wood, the mocking-birds, seem to appreciate the 
blessing of freedom ; for the day is not long enough for them to tell all their joy, 
and I have often heard one of them, after midnight, singing the songs of his feathered 
neighbors to the silent shades about him, and have never yet been able to determine 
whether the happy little musician stopped singing before morning, or whether I 
wandered off to dreamland again, listening to his sleepy trills and his low warbling. 

The birds, the rabbits, and the wolves were our nearest neighbors. One old lady- 



244 Our Young Contributors. [April, 

wolf, who seemed to cherish an affection for one of my little brothers, pursued him 
on one occasion nearly to our enclosure. Without even asking her to put her name 
on our subscription-list, father and I each caught up a gun and started after her ; but 
where was she ? She had disappeared, as only a wolf can, and we had to give her 
up for that time, 

But more than once alter that I saw, on looking up from my work, a wolf's hind legs 
and tail just vanishing among the wild blackberry-vines ; and more than once did I 
leave my case, take my gun, and call the dogs to follow Mrs. Wolf, but always in 
vain. I could see her tracks in the sandy places, but the dogs, who had met her 
ladyship once already, and did not seem to desire a second introduction, refused to 
follow her trail, and I had to give up all hope of having a dressed wolf-skin for a 
saddle-cover. 

Other incidents to enliven existence were not lacking in a pastoral country like 
Texas. For example, there were ten or twelve cows to milk every morning and 
evening, and I often had some fun, as well as some good exercise, after my day's 
employment in the office, pulling away and tying the big calves, six or eight months 
old. This pulling away is a very necessary part of the business ; for these stout little 
baby cattle have a troublesome habit of butting at a furious rate, often inflicting 
gaping wounds in the knuckles of the unfortunate milker. 

Sometimes, too, I was called from my work to drive up and pen a half-wild cow, 
that had lately become the mother of some of our future beef; and if milking and 
wolf-hunting were pleasant pastimes for me, imagine the pleasure of mounting a 
nimble, well-trained Spanish pony, and chasing a refractory cow (that is always sure 
to take a bee-line for the deepest gully, the densest thicket, or the muddiest water- 
hole within her knowledge) through glade and woodland, this way and that, like a 
worm -fence ; often compelled to lie close against my horse's side, and hold my hat, 
and my head too, to keep from leaving them behind me in the top of some sapling 
or in a brier-patch ! 

Although my sister and I were seldom at a loss for something to preserve our 
cheerfulness at our type-setting, still we were always glad to have our negro washer- 
woman, Rinda, call on us, as she often did on wash-days, when her work was done. 

On one occasion she came in accompanied by one of her dark-skinned neighbors, 
who watched us silently for some time, seeming very much awed by our presence, as 
though she were at church, and we were the preachers. At length, turning to Rinda, 
she said, scarce above a whisper, and pointing to the type in a case near her, 
" W-w-wat 's dem made out 'n, wood T " Rinda, who had been there before, and felt 
more at her ease than her companion, put on a very knowing look as she replied, 
" No, dem 's iron." But the first speaker was sceptical ; turning to address father, 
who had just entered, she said, " Does you keep dem chillens pickin' up dem little 
sticks all day?" 

I have not picked up many of " dem little sticks " since I left my Texas home ; 
and though it has been but little more than a year since I saw it sinking beneath the 
horizon, it seems at times as though ages have passed since then ; but again, when I 
am day-dreaming of the land I shall ever remember with love and pleasure, I half 
believe for a moment that I see the same dear, familiar objects, and feel the same 
soft breezes I have so often vainly longed for since I left them. 

But time alone can solve the problem of human destiny ; and I love to think that 
some future day will find me again at our printing-office in the woods. 

S. Harford, Jr. 



l873] Our Young Contributors. 245 

A DAY'S BLUE-FISHING. 

"There, Al, I believe we. have everything ready now," said I to my friend and 
chum, Albeit Pierce, giving the finishing touches to a box of fishing-lines which I had 
just been overhauling, in order to have them in prime order for the next day, when we 
intended to go down the river for a day's sport at blue-fishing. 

" Yes, everything is all right now," answered he ; " and I have set my alarm-clock 
to waken us at four o'clock, so that we shall not oversleep ourselves." 

Throwing off our clothes, we sprang into bed, and were soon sound asleep, rehears- 
ing in our dreams the expected sport of the morrow. 

Albert Pierce was my cousin and chum, and I was spending a vacation at my uncle 
Robert's house, which was delightfully situated on one of the numerous streams which 
flow into Delaware Bay from the western shore. As Al owned a fine sloop-rigged 
yacht, the Bessie, which his father had presented to him on his last birthday, we 
were not at a loss for enjoyment, and to-morrow we were going to try out luck at 
blue-fishing. 

Al's yacht was a beautiful little craft, but strong and seaworthy, nevertheless ; and as 
we could just handle her nicely, and were both good swimmers, Uncle Robert had no 
fear in allowing us to go out alone in her. 

The faithful little clock awakened us promptly at four o'clock, and we were soon 
dressed and on board the Bessie. It was not yet daylight, but we were both fa- 
miliar with the yacht, and had no trouble in getting under way. The breeze was light, 
and as the mouth of the river was some distance from Uncle Robert's house, it was 
sunrise before we reached it On going ashore, we soon procured a basket of crabs 
for bait, and, the breeze freshening considerably, were not long in arriving at the fish- 
ing-ground. It was now about low water, and as the fish bit best on the coming in 
of the flood tide, we first made a raid on the basket of luncheon, and, after satisfying 
our appetites, threw out our lines and waited anxiously for a bite. 

After waiting for what seemed to me, who was new to the sport, a long time, but 
which Al, like an enthusiastic fisherman, accepted with a patience worthy of emula- 
tion, I felt a tremendous tug at my line, and soon succeeded in landing (or rather 
decking) a fine four-pounder, which measured at least twenty inches. Soon came a 
delighted yell from Al, followed by a disappointed grunt, as the fish he had hooked 
made ofT just as he had got it to the top of the water ; but with a laughing •• Better 
luck next time ! " he threw in his line again. Soon the sport waxed fast and furious, 
and we hauled in the fish almost as fast as we could bait our hooks and cast in the 
lines. 

After a while, however, the fun began to lag, and we made preparations for dinner. 
The four-pounder (the first fish caught) was soon frying on the little cook-stove in the 
cuddy of the yacht ; by the time it was nicely browned, the cofTee was done ; and on 
these, together with the remains of the luncheon, we made a famous meal. 

In the afternoon the sport was not nearly so good as it had been in the morning ; 
and we were just hauling in our lines preparatory to starting for home, when I was 
startled, upon turning round, to see Al leaning over the side and holding on with both 
hands to his line, which was sawing through the water, first in one direction and then 
in the other, at a lively rate. 

"Aleck, lend a hand here ! help me haul this fellow in," said he, "I guess I 
have hooked a shark, by the way it pulls ! " 

After playing the fish awhile, we finally got it aboard, and found that it was indeed 



246 Our Young Contributors. [April, 

a shark ! Though not large, he was a vicious-16oking fellow, and he snapped his for- 
midable-looking teeth so that we were compelled to handle him very gingerly. Bat 
finally we got him stowed away in a safe place ; and, considering this a fitting wind- 
up for our day's sport, we got under way again, and were soon bowling along before a 
stiff breeze for home, where we arrived just at sundown. 

On summing up the result, we found we had captured ninety-eight blue-fish and four 
flounders, which, together with the shark, we considered pretty good luck. As to the 
latter gentleman, we found the next morning, when he was rather more docile than at 
first, that he measured thirty-two inches and weighed eleven pounds. 

A. W. S., age 15. 

Philadelphia, Pa. 



MY SHIP. 



I launched a ship in a long-past year, 

And sent it over the sea. 
I said, " When my ship has crossed the main, 

'Twill surely come back to me." 

I watched my ship with its precious load 

Sail slowly over the sea; 
I whispered low to my beating heart, 

"'Twill surely come back to me." 

I sat on the beach, the yellow beach, 

And looked far over the sea. 
The sparkling wavelets broke at my feet, 

And the earth was glad with me. 

I waited long for my treasure-ship, 
My eyes on the dull gray sea, — 

The dark clouds veiled the face of the sun, — 
It never came back to me 1 

I sat on the beach, the yellow beach, 

But I looked not to the sea. 
The wavelets died on the shining sand, 

And the whole earth mourned with me. 

But while I sat on the yellow beach, 

A low voice spoke to me; 
"Thy ship is safe in a distant port; 

It is waiting there for thee." 

Then the sun threw off his cloudy veil, 
And shone on the bright blue sea. 

I raised my head, and my heart grew light, 
For an angel stood by me. 

And he whispered soft, "I will come again, 
And bear thee over the sea ; 



1 873.] Our Young Contributors. 247 

Be sure at last thou shalt reach the port 
Where thy treasure waits for thee." 

To-day I sit on the yellow beach, 

And look in hope to the sea. 
The sparkling wavelets break at my feet, 

And the whole earth hopes with me. 

Alice Maude. 



BABY'S WAKING UP. 

OF all the pretty sights on which the great sun shines, I know this is the prettiest 
For what can be prettier than our baby ? Our baby, " dear little dimpled darling, '» 
lying in her cradle, looking as sweet and innocent as only a little round-faced, yellow- 
haired baby can. Her fat, dimpled hands, spread out, wave gently back and forth as 
the cradle rocks, — just as the old cat at Baby's feet, as yet undecided whether to lie 
down or jump of£ waves her tail. 

Pussy, you had better jump off, and take yourself and your much-abused, long-suf- 
fering tail safely out of the way, where Baby and her minions cannot find you, for 
Baby is waking up. 

Her blue eyes open wider, with such a funny, sleepy look in them ! Her red cheeks 
grow redder. The little hands double themselves up into soft, round fists, and wander 
through the air without regard to cradle motion, sometimes swooping fiercely down 
on the poor little knob of a nose, rubbing and pounding it without mercy. 

Yes, Baby is waking up, and she opens her little rosebud mouth — what will hap- 
pen ? — wider and wider, wider yet ! O Baby ! are you only india-rubber ? The cradle 
stops rocking. Pussy, catching one glimpse of the place where Baby's mouth was, is 
gone like a flash of gray lightning. The worst is over now. I breathe freely once 
more. 

Baby lies still, idly winking. O the awful solemnity of a baby's face after a yawn ! 

The sunbeams, shining on Baby's hair, burnish it into tiny rings of gold They 
shine, too, in the great wondering blue eyes, looking up so pleadingly, on the little 
hands held up, and the tiny mouth, screwed into such a funny shape, as if to say, 
"Daisy, take Baby." 

O Baby, must I take you, and spoil the pretty picture? 

Daisy, age 15. 



OUR ROYAL HIGHNESSES. 

My friend Jack Hill and myself were spending a fortnight in Rome during the 
Easter festivities, and at the desire of the former we had secured the services of a cite- 
rone, or guide, to show us around. Giovanni — that was the worthy's name — was 
one of the brazenest specimens of a most brazen class. As I used frequently to ob- 
serve, in that easy, off-hand manner on which I particularly pride myself, " Giovanni, 
my boy, you 're nothing but a lump of brass ; and if you came to my country now, 
the enterprising natives would melt you down and convert you into Milton gold." 
Whereat he would grin pleasantly, and, appealing to Jack Hill, would say, " He very 



248 Our Young Contributors. [April, 

wittee, is it not so?" For Giovanni understood English, and, what was worse, 
spoke it 

Well, the very first morning he took us to St Peter's, to see one of the greatest 
ceremonies of the year, when the Pope officiates at the high altar. The crowd was 
immense. We squeezed our way near to the altar under his masterly guidance. Just 
before us was a row of seats rising like steps on one side of the altar, which Giovanni 
informed us were reserved for dignitaries of church and state and illustrious strangers. 
They made our mouths water as we thought how well we would be able to see the 
whole ceremony if we only could be lucky enough to get into such eligible positions. 

" Giovanny, you rascal ! " said Jack, laughingly, " why don't you get us into those 
seats ? We 're illustrious strangers, — ain't we, Bubby ? " This last insulting epithet 
was applied to me. 

" O well, Missa Hill," said our guide, <c if you want rem, I vill get rem for you." 
And off he started before we could prevent him, leaving us to wonder what in the 
world was coming next Presently he returned, but accompanied this time by an 
officer in gorgeous uniform, who, when he came up to us, began a series of bows that 
filled us with astonishment We responded, of course, and were then requested by 
the obsequious officer to follow him. This we did, the cicerone tipping us encour- 
aging winks, and were conducted to the very seats we had so coveted, to our infinite 
amazement and the amazed envy of the multitude. We located ourselves where we 
were directed, not without sundry misgivings, however, as to what the upshot of the 
adventure would be. 

"Confound that Giovanny 1 " whispered Jack. " He 's got us into a nice mess." 

" Yes, indeed," I returned. "I bet there's some terrible mistake, and when they 
find it out, we '11 be kicked out of our places before all the people." 

Our fears were groundless, however, and we remained unmolested spectators of the 
whole ceremony. We saw the Pope carried in procession through the entire length 
of the building and up to the main altar, where he officiated at the grand and impres- 
sive ceremonies which mark the ritual of the Catholic Church. The whole College of 
Cardinals were present, dressed in their red robes, besides the other various ecclesi- 
astical dignitaries, all forming a scene " more easily imagined than described," as the 
newspaper correspondents have it. It must be confessed, though, that we were on 
pins and needles the whole time, and did n't enjoy the spectacle half so much as we 
should have done under ordinary circumstances. When all was over, we left the seats 
amid the same profusion of salaams from the gorgeous officer we had enjoyed at the 
beginning. Of course, our curiosity was excited to the highest pitch. 

" What does it all mean ? " we inquired of Giovanni, when we got into the open air. 

" I hopes," said the latter, with a grin and a low bow, " zat your Royal Highnesses 
enjoyed ze show ver 1 much indeed." 

" Our Royal Highnesses ? What 's the man blowing about ? " 

" Why," said Giovanni, who was fairly purple in the face with suppressed laughter, 
"I told zat dressed-up fool zat you vas ze — what you call? O, ze nephewses of ze 
King of Denmark, travelling incognito ; and be believe every wort I say, and he—" 

" And that 's the way we got into those seats, is it ? " said Jack, bursting out into a 
great guffaw, in which Giovanni and myself heartily joined. 

The joke was too good to go unrewarded, and a couple of extra scudi caused a 
pleased expression to come over Giovanni's intellectual lineaments, as he swore that 
if we were n't princes we deserved to be, at any rate. 

Wm. S. Walsh. 

Camden, N. J. 




RIDDLE. — No. 48. 
Place the letters contained in "new 
door " in such a position as to make one 
word out of it. 

A. C. 

ENIGMA. — No. 49. 
In robin, not in wren ; 

In murmur, not in growl ; 
In dozen, not in ten ; 

In eagle, not in owl ; 
In pullet, not in hen ; 
The whole is a water-fowl. 

Ruthvtn. 



WORD SQUARES. — No. so. 
My first of cities once was peerless queen. 
My second one can trace in David's line. 
My third, in Saxon, sea or lake may mean. 
My fourth, a gift to men from love divine. 

G.E. 
No. 51. 

1. To make a law. 

2. A substance which lines the interior 
of some shells. 

3. Performed. 

4. Belief. 

5. A boy's nickname. 

E. J. P. 



ILLUSTRATED REBUS. — No. 52. 




6A6 T E 
**£?% IT-FACT **>"X^ Q 

*# JEST. 



dncft 




J. E. D. 



250 



The Evening Lamp. 



[April, 



REBUS. — No. 53. 

E 
L 1 V , -4. p e 

T ■& 

"Friend" 
ENIGMAS. — No. 54. 
My first is in cry, but not in speak ; 
My second'* in year, but not in week; 
My third is in pen, but not in sty ; 
My fourth is in doll, but not in cry ; 
toy fifth is in Johnny, but not in Mike ; 
My whole is something that little boys 

like. 

Wilder D. Quint, age 9. 

No. 55. 
toy first is a useful animal 
My second, a useful article. 
My third, a part of a house. 
My whole, a town. 

Ruthie M., age 13. 

No. 56. 
I am composed of 14 letters. 
My 3, 14, 10, 2, 1 1, 13, 14, is used in lamps. 
My 1, 12, 8, is very muddy. 
My 5, 13, 7, is a Spanish title. 
My 6, 4, 6, 9, is part of the eye. 
My whole is a place where boys and girls 
have a good time. 

S. P. LaseU. 

DIAMOND PUZZLE. — No. 57. 

A consonant 
A number. 
A reptile. 
To lengthen, 
A vowel. 

" Needle and Pin." 

METAGRAM. — No. 58. 
First, I am a murderer. Change my 
head, and I am profit Again, and I have 
reposed. Again, and I am the principal 
part. Again, and I am caused by the 
toothache. Again, and I am wet Again, 
and I am useless. 

Volta. 



CURIOUS COMPARISONS. 

No. 59. 

Positive. 

An industrious insect, far famed for its 

skill, 
Which can work and can sting with an 
equal good will. 

Comparative, 
A concoction for which no palate should 

crave, 
Which will certainly take many men to 
the grave. 

Superlative. 
I am sometimes a tiger and sometimes a 

bear, 
And I think you had better not come to 
my lair. 

Jack Straw. 

PUZZLE.— No. 60. 
Cut out of a single piece of paper, with 
one cut of the scissors, this double cross, 
and all the other figures shown in the 
cut. 



D o 



"pt~ 



ucJ 



^0X0 



o 



-v 



WORD SQUARES. — No. 61. 

1. An ardent friend. 

2. A kind of fruit. 

3. Pertaining to life. 

4. To shun. 

5. To lease again. 

H.E. m 
No. 62. 
x. A competitor. 

2. A beautiful country. 

3. Mist 

4. Solitary. 

5. Musical instruments. 

Alice Greene. 



18730 



The Evening Lamp, 



251 



DOUBLE CHARADE. — No. 63. 

FirstparU 
Myjirst is usually dark. My second is 
a preposition. My third is a strong wind. 
Second part 
My first is near. My second is a metal. 
My third is a violent tempest 

Clifford Bowsir, 

TRANSPOSITION. — No. 64. 
I am a girl's name. Transpose, I am a 
river. Again, I am color. 

Bro. Jonathan. 

NAMES OF BIRDS.— No. 65. 

1. A vessel, a letter, and a grain. 

2. To twist, and a pebble. 

3. A combustible material and a feucet. 

4. A personal pronoun and a preposi- 
tion. 

5. An animal, a letter, and a preposition. 
d. Part of a ship, and a line. 

7. A girl's nickname and something to 
eat 

8. A fowl, a letter, and a river. 

9. A letter, and tiny. 

Lindaraxa, 



A TOAST. — NO. 66. 

Her e'sa, He althto ; alltho Seth atilo 
ve! 

He re'saheal (th) toallt Hose: that lo! 
Verne here Sahe, a Itht ? O!!! 

All tho set, hat, Lo— Vethemtha, Tilo 
V. E. 

And Tot hem ! thatlo vet ho ; sethat ? 
Lo!!!! Vem, E. 

Zoc. 

BURIED TOWNS. — No. 67. 

1. I never sail less than ten knots an 
hour. 

2. Study up Aristides. 

3. On the arrival of the mob, I left 

4. There goes the mad rider; hell 
break his neck. 

5. Travellers have nice times in Europe. 

6. I saw a Hindu blind in one eye. 

7. Did you hear that bomb ? Ay, it 

burst overhead. 

" The Happy Four." 

CIPHER— No. 68. 
Who can read this cipher? 
Ipx eq zrv fs ? 

Wonny Wy. 



GEOGRAPHICAL REBU S. — No. 69. 





S. A. R. Dean. 



ANSWERS. 



30. B I R D S 31. HEARS 

IOOOO ELLEN 

ROBIN ALIBI 

DOING REBUT 

SONGS SNITE 

3* Damask. 

33. A catastrophe (cat as trophy). 

34. 1. Crete, a. Bahama. 3. Bermuda. 4. 
Caxtdia. 5. Candia. 

35- " For ways that are dark, and for tricks that 
are vain, the heathen Chinee is peculiar.*' [(Four 
ways that are dark) (and) (four) (t ricks) (that) 
(r)(vane)(the)(heathen) (Chi knee) (is) (P Q lyre).] 

36. Agate, a gate, a gait. 

37. Indianapolis ; Indiana, spoil. 

38. Merrimac 

39. Verbena. 

40. Locket, socket, rocket, pocket 

41. 1. Bradley Headstone, a. BarnabyRudge. 
3. Florence Dombey. 4, Mrs. Jarley. 5. Joe 



Gargery. 6. Dolly Varden. 7. Rosa Dartle. 8. 
Dora Spenlow. 

42. i. A watch. 2. Because I keep my hands 
before my face. 3. Because I 'm on guard. 4. 
Because I 'm attached to a chain. 5. Because 
I've a key. 6. Because I never strike. 7. Because 
I run down. 8. Because I need winding up. o. 
Because I 'm a lever. 10. Because I 've wheels. 

43. x. Lamp. a. Idea. 3. November. 4. 
Number. 5. Echo. 6. Tempest — Linnet, Par- 
rot 

44. Dandelion (dandy lion), Sunflower (sun 
flour), Love-lies-a-bleeding, Harebell (hair belle), 
Pansy (pan x). 

45. R I C H 4& S T A P L E 
IDLE TABLES 
CLAM ABLEST 
HEMP PLEASE 

Li £ o S £ £ 

ESTEEM 
47. M Great talkers, little doers." 




Knoxvillb, Tenn. 

DEAR "YOUNG FOLKS ":- 
Though I have been but a short time a sub- 
scriber to your magazine, I have been a reader 
of it for almost six years, and cannot but write 
and tell you how much I value and appreciate it. 
It is without doubt, and without any attempt at 
flattery, the best juvenile magazine published in 
the United States. Not the least important part 
is the '* Letter Box," in which I have ever taken 
great interest .... 

And now — for you seem to know everything — 
will you please to tell me something about the 
famous " Junius," who he really was, etc ; also 
where I can obtain a copy of his Letters? .... 
Very respectfully yours, 

We smile when we are accused of knowing ev- 
erything, — for there is only one tiling, we some- 
times think, which we are quite certain of, and that 
is our own ignorance. And when the " Letter 
Box " is praised, we take no credit to ourselves, 
but distribute it among our many dear friends and 
correspondents. 

" Junius " was the assumed name over which 
appeared, about one hundred years ago, princi- 
pally in the London " Public Advertiser," a series 
of the most brilliant and audacious political letters 
that ever astonished English society. They at- 
tacked the king, his ministry, parliament, and 
various public measures and public men, with a 
power and vehemence rendered all the more 
appalling by the mystery which surrounded the 
writer. With consummate art he kept his dis- 
guise to the last, and his secret died with him. 
More than a hundred volumes or pamphlets — not 
to speak of countless essays in newspapers and 
magazines — have been written to prove his iden- 
tity with known public men ; but it is now gen- 
erally conceded that Sir Philip Francis, a politi- 
cian and political writer (born in Dublin, 1740 ; 
died in London, 1818), was the veritable "Ju- 
nius." This identity is shown by a mass of cir- 
cumstantial evidence which Macaulay declares 
would be "sufficient to convict a murderer." 

You will find the Letters of Junius, together 
with an elaborate essay on their probable author- 
ship, in two volumes of Bohn's Standard Library, 
— to be found, we should suppose, in any large 



public library, or obtained through any enterpris- 
ing bookseller. 

Newark, III.. January 6, 1873. 
Editors of "Our Young Folks": — 

We welcome your bright and cheerful magazine 
again, thinking it is the best ever published. It 
is full of fun and useful reading. I do wish you 
could see how we look when we see pa coming; 
up the lane with an orange-colored paper peeping: 
out of his coat-pocket 1 You would think we were 
insane, I am sure 

Please tell us what the picture on the outside 
of the cover of the magazine represents. 
Your happy reader, 

Nbllib M. Brown. 

As we were about to answer Nellie's question, 
it occurred to us that the picture would be a good 
subject for our youthful correspondents to try their 
hands at Who can give the best britf descrip- 
tion of its signification ? 

CHARLBSTOWN. December jr. 187*. 
Editors of " Our Young Folks " : — 

I thought I would tell you how much you have 
helped an invalid. I am twelve years old, and 
have one brother, Charlie, fifteen years old. My 
father died in a Southern prison, and mamma, 
Charlie, and I live with my Uncle Robert, mam- 
ma's brother. I was very fond of horseback riding, 
and Uncle Robert gave me a beautiful little black 
pony ; Charlie and I rode almost every day, but 
last spring, when we were riding, my pony became 
frightened, and threw me against a tree lying in 
the road. My spine was injured so that I shall 
never be able to walk again. I have to be moved 
from my bed to the lounge ; but every one is so 
kind I and the " Young Folks " has relieved many 
a weary hour. Charlie is one of the best brothers 
in the world, and does everything he can for me. 
I can't remember any unkind word ever passing 
between us ; and I don't think many brothers and 
sisters can say that .... 

Will you please answer a few questions for me? 

x. Is the corner-stone an important part of a 
building ? and is any corner more important than 
the others? If so, which one ? 
■ 2. Is Mrs. Whitney going to write any more for 
the "Young Folks"? 

3. Where can I find a good history of Thanks- 
giving ? 



1873] 



Our Letter Box. 



253 



4, Do you know what "Minnie" means? I 
■oppose all names mean something, and Web- 
ster's Dictionary gives a good many, but I can't 
find mine, and I like a name that means some- 



I read ar great deal of advice to sisters about 
being kind to their brother*, and I suppose it is 
necessary, but do you think it is air to lay all the 
blame to them ? I wish some one would tell boys 
to be kind to their sisters. I have a friend who is 
always kind to her younger brother, but he orders 
her round like a dog, and seems to delight in 
hurting her feelings, because she is "only a girl " I 
He reads the advice to girls with great delight 
I>on't you think boys ought to go out in storms 
and do rough work? but Frank always says, if 
asked to do an errand in a storm, " Em can go." 
(Her name is Emma.) He always takes the best 
things, and if he loses anything, he says, " Em, 
find that for me, and be quick about it, too I " 
Emma is not very strong, and he says she is "al- 
ways in the way" ; but I don't think she will be 
long. If she remonstrates with him, he says, 
•* You just shut up your mouth t I won't be or- 
dered round by you. You can mind your own 
1 and let me alone." Sometimes, when he 
, I have found her crying as if her heart 
would break. Her mother is dead, and she won't 
complain to her father, or he would stop it Won't 
some one give the boys a lecture on kindness ? 

Wishing all your readers a Happy New Year, I 



Your admiring reader, 

MnrMTB Thomas. 

Answers. — x. The corner-stone, which is first 
mid, is considered the most important stone in a 
building, since it determines the position of the 
walls it unites, and is, properly speaking, the com- 
mencement of the structure. In buildings de- 
signed lor public purposes there is often a formal 
laying of this stone in the presence of distin- 
guished guests, the foundation for it having been 
made ready beforehand. 

a. It has been thought advisable, by Mrs. Whit- 
ney and the publishers, to print her recent works 
in book form, without first running them through 
the magazine. We still hope, however, that we 
may before long be able to give something of hers 
m these pages. Have you read " Real Folks," 
a continuation of the experiences of " We Girls " ? 

3. A very good brief account of " The First 
New England Thanksgiving" appeared in the 
November number of " Our Young Folks " for 
1869. It can be had of the publishers. 

4. "Minnie," as a girl's name, is from the 
French mu/smmt, and means " darling." Strict- 
ly, it is not a name, but only a term of endearment 

What you say of your friend's brother Frank is 
true, alas I of too many boys nowadays, — not 



because they have bad hearts, m all cases, but 
ofrener because they have got into selfish, domi- 
neering ways, and do not stop to think how mean 
and cruel they really am. 

M EyU U wrought from want of thought. 
As well as want of heart.'' 

Will not some of the unkind brothers who read 
this "take a thought, and mend " ? 

Cincinnati, 0.. Dec ae, 1873. 
Dsak " Younc Folks " : — 

Although you have discontinued the publica- 
tion of the " Mutual Improvement Corner," may 
I ask your indulgence, and beg space for the inser- 
tion (if you deem it advisable) of the following 
request? If carried out, the scheme may prove 
beneficial, and lead torn* of Our Young Folks 
to a pleasant and profitable acquaintance. 

I should like to be in correspondence with a 
number of young men, with a view to enjoying a 
series of adventures — similar to those described 
by Mr. C A. Stephens in his " Camping Out " — 
during the summer holidays, the object to be not 
mere "adventure," but healthful exercise and en- 
joyment. The party to be composed of more than 
four, not under the age of seventeen nor older 
than twenty, excepting one person (if he can be 
had) to act as a sort of mentor or guide to the 
rest The expenses to be individual ; constitution 
and by-laws, place and time of camping, etc, to 
be decided by a majority. Address 

Charlie D. Hamilton, 
Cincinnati, Ohio. 

We have no doubt but some such plan as this, 
if properly carried out, would prove pleasant and 
profitable to more than one party of adventurers. 
But we advise all who may think of trying it to 
first take counsel with their friends, carefully select 
their companions, and use all needful precautions 
at the outset We shall expect to be kept in- 
formed as to the results of any such undertaking. 

BROOKLINB, February 17, 1873. 
Dbax " Young Folks " : — 

Will you accept these answers to the questions 
of Wilson S. Howell, published in the March 
number of your magazine ? 

1. It was formerly a maxim that a young woman 
should never be married till she had spun herself 
a set of body, table, and bed linen. From this 
custom all unmarried women were called s/insUrs, 
an appellation which they still retain in all deeds 
and law proceedings. / 

a. Edward Vernon, a distinguished English ad- 
miral, was the first man who introduced rum-and- 
water as a beverage on board a ship : he used to 
wear a grfrun cloak, in foul weather, which 
gained him the appellation of Old Grog. From 
him the sailors transferred this name to the liquor. 

3. In the time of William the Conqueror, what 



254 



Our LttUr Bo*. 



[April, 



we now call sirloin was called xuriongt dt kruf, 
which means the portion of beef above the loin. 
It was afterwards corrupted into surhisu In the 
time of James I. the word was again altered, and 
the occasion, as fur as I have been able to gather, 
was this : Whilst he sat at meat, casting his eyes 
upon a noble surlcin at the lower end of the table, 
he cried, " Bring hither that surltnm, sirrah 1 for 't is 
worthy of a more honorable post, being, as I may 
say, not xwr-loin, but wr-loin, the noblest joint of 
alL" Erica. 

Answered also, wholly or in part, by Leland 
Weston, R. C. Fans, C. R. S., Milo B. Porter, 
H. M. Tichenor, and Louisa M. Davis, who says 
in reply to W. S. Howell's fourth question:— 
M Tinted paper was first discovered as follows. 
Some color accidentally got into the vat of rags 
at a paper-manufactory. The paper, thus colored, 
was thrown away as useless ; but the master, hap- 
pening to see a piece, thought it might sell, and 
therefore made a small quantity. Means were af- 
terwards discovered of tinting in different colors." 

Kate, Mollie, and Irene. — i. The quotation, 

" None knew thee but to love thee, 

None named thee bat to praise," 

is from Halleck's lines " On the Death of Joseph 
Rodman Drake." 

a. Printing with movable types was invented by 
Johannes Gutenberg, of Strasburg, in just what 
year is unknown. He is said to have possessed 
printing materials and a press as early as 1438, 
although no printed books are known to have been 
issued by him until after 1450. 

3. Niagara is an Indian name. 

Mabtl Church. — By referring to any good 
English Dictionary, you would have found that 
Apocalypse — from a Greek verb signifying "to 
- means a " revelation." 



Jayenisee. — The mistakes of the artist in illus- 
trating "Doing his Best" were not discovered 
until it was too late to have new drawings made. 

Your answer to " Cousin Bob's " puzzle is cor- 
rect, — " three cats." 

New YORK CITY, February 15, 1873. 
Dear "Young Folks":— 

In answer to " Cousin Bob's " question concern- 
ing the composers of the music of " Sweet Home " 
and the '* Last Rose of Summer," I think I can 
partly reply. The composer of the music of 
" Sweet Home " is H. Bishop. As for the " Last 
Rose of Summer," I believe the air is only known 
as an Irish melody. 

Your constant reader, 

Estklle B. Morris. 

Mary R. Altee says : "In an old music-book of 
my grandmother's, at least fifty years old, I found 
' Home, sweet Home,' and on the title-page these 



words: ■ Composed and partly founded on a Sicil- 
ian air by Henry R. Bishop.' .... If 'Cousin 
Bob ' will look in the Appendix to Moore's ' Irish 
Melodies,' he will find an account of the way 
they wt 



Editors or" Our Young Folks":— 

My letter, like all Gaul, is divided into three 
parts, z. I object to your answers to my charade. 
The true answer, which I have not yet discovered 
myselt most have three syllables: Titmouse and 
Killdeer have but two each. I refuse to allow my 
innocent oaapring to be thus slighted. I however 
propose a new form for my unanswered bantling; 
and.offer one dollar reward for the best rhymed 
answer to this : — 

My first is a beast ; 

My second, a bird ; 

My third is a letter; 

My whole is a word. 

2. Why do not our Young Folks brighten their 
wits, and give us more novel forms of brain work? 
We tire of the everlasting word-square, the eternal 
enigma, and the exhilarating metagram. Toujour* 
ferdrix I Let us have something new, if only to 
show our superiority to Solomon. 

3. I hereby suggest the sending of rhymed met- 
rical answers to the puzzles, and request the pub- 
lication in the Letter Box of the magazine of 
the best set of rhymed versified answers to the 
April brainwork. I enclose one each answer to 

No. 34. 

Yours truly. 

Jack Straw. 

Notwithstanding our correspondent's objection, 
we think if he had in the first place offered the 
prize of one dollar for an answer to his charade, a 
jury of Our Young Folks would have awarded it 
for either "Titmouse " or " Killdeer," since each 
of those words is susceptible of division into three 
parts, according to the requirements of the original 
version. We dare assert that no answer having the * 
required three syllables exists. Concerning the 
present version, printed above, we will say, for 
the encouragement of competitors for the prize, 
that an answer has occurred to us which we think 
would satisfy even the exacting "Jack Straw." 
He has shown his good faith by depositing his 
dollar with us, and we hold it subject to the order 
of the first person who forwards to us a reasonably 
good rhymed answer. 

Here is his 

RHYMED ANSWER TO No. 34- 
Sunken Islands. 
I roamed o'er die sea, and flew o'er the wave, 
From the land of the free and the home of the brave, 

Till I came with my fleet 

To the Island of CrtU ; 



I873-] 



Our Letter Box. 



*SS 



Arid again I deported, and sailed tffl I came as 
Swift aa I could to the Isles a££aMa$mas} 

And then as intruders 

We advanced to Bermuda*; 
Then to CanxUa once and to Candia twice 
We set sail, and are aB, and are there in a trice. 
Jack Straw. 

New York, January 16, 2873. 
Dbax "Young Folks " : — 

I shall endeavor to answer one of the questions 
advanced by your subscriber, Nellie S. Sheldon. 

In the course of my reading I have been enter- 
tained by the story of Harmonia, and the mention 
of the necklace therein, but I have yet to learn 
that it was the necklace which caused misfortune. 
As I understand the table, and as substantially it 
is Cm Bulfinch's " Age of Fable "), it runs thus : — 
On the marriage of Harmonia with Cadmus, Vul- 
can presented to the bride a " necklace of surpass- 
ing brilliancy, his own workmanship." But a 
fatality bung over Cadmus and his family (in 
consequence of his destroying the serpent sacred 
to Mars), culminating in the death of his children, 
whom he saw around him 

"Fall 
Like leaves In wintry weather." 

These misfortunes so preyed upon the mind of the 
unfortunate Cadmus, that he exclaimed in despair, 
" If a serpent's life is so dear to the gods, I would 
I were myself a serpent I " and at his word a 

" Snake dragged it, slow length along." 
Harmonia prayed the gods to be allowed to share 
bis late: her poor petition granted, they live in 
the woods together, but, mindful of their origin, 
they harm no one. 

Regretting that I hafe occupied so much space 
in answering one question, I am 
Truly yours, 

Chablbs Huntington. 

H. W. PrtsioK says, in answer to another of 
Nellie & Sheldon's questions, that the " Grand 
Panjandrum was an old darkey who belonged to 
the B. O. W. C. Club, in the 'B. O. W. C, by 
Professor J. DcMille." But the truth is that the 
said darkey was named after the real "Grand 
Panjandrum," — if an unreality can be called real, 
— that sounding name having been invented by 
Foote, the comic dramatist, and introduced by him 
into about a dozen lines of sheer nonsense, com- 
posed to test the verbal memory of a person who 
wagered that he could learn to repeat them correctly 
in twelve minutes. The epithet of " Grand Pan- 
jandrum " is often applied by way of ridicule to 
pompous personages, or little men with great 



" BObequeU" author of the article on the " Sacro 
Bambino," criticised by a brother Young Con- 
tributor in our last M Letter Box," replies in a 



kindly spirit, e xp re ssin g regret at having written 
" anything that should mar the harmony existing 
among his fellow contributors." Want of space 
prevents our printing his letter in full. 

"Fern" writes in regard to his article, "Will's 
Exploit," criticised in our "Letter Box": — 
" M. A. N. is correct. If the story mentions Lake 
No. 5 as the one upon which we were camping, 
it is a mistake of mine in the manuscript or the 
typo's in setting. We were on Lake No. 4. The 
eastern end of Bald Mountain lies within one 
mile and a half or thereabouts of that lake, and it 
was at that point that we ascended it." 

BSIXAIRB, Ohio, February xa, 1873- 
Editoks " Young Folks " :— 

Is there any publication of the Mohammedan 
Koran in the English language that can be pro- 
cured in the United States? Does the Koran in 
any way resemble the Mormon Bible of Jo Smith, 
and can the latter be procured of any one but a 
Mormon? What would be the probable cost of 
the two books? 

Will & Faris. 

Answer. — Messrs* Lippincott and Co., Phila- 
delphia, publish a very good English version of the 
Koran ; price, $ a.75. It does not at all resemble 
the "Mormon Bible," except, perhaps, in its 
wordy and wearisome ditraseness. We hare 
found both books hard reading. The only copy 
of the "Book of Mormon" we have ever seen 
was published in 1854 by F. D. Richards, 15 Wil- 
ton Street, Liverpool, England. It is a compact 
little volume of 563 pages. The book is quite diffi- 
cult to be obtained, except through Mormon bands. 

Gterg* P. WhittUsty writes, in answer to in- 
quiries concerning books on ventriloquism, that he 
has " Haney's Handbook of Ventriloquism," to 
be obtained of Jesse Haney and Co., 119 Nassau 
Street, New York, for 15 cents. He adds: — 
" Would any of Our Young Folks like a short- 
hand correspondent? If so, 'I'm their man.' I 
am studying Graham's Phonography, and would 
like to correspond with some one for practice. 
My address is 

Geo. P. Whittlesey, 

143 York Street, New Haven, Conn." 

R. C. F. t who asks us questions regarding 
phonography, had better communicate with our 
correspondent, as indicated above. 

brooklyn. n. y. 
Dkar " Young Folks " : — 

Will you please answer the following questions 
in an early " Letter Box," and oblige a constant 
and loving reader* 

x. Was there ever fought a battle of King's 
Mountain in North Carolina during the Revolu- 
tion? 



2$6 



Our Letter Box. 



[April. 



s. What i» the difference between fenone and 
regret? 

3. Whet is the name of the yoong man who 
fired the Ephesian dome or tower to win far him- 
self immortal fame ? 

4. Who wrote " The Total Depravity of Inan- 
imate Things '* ? — published in the " Atlantic," I 
think. Can yon tell me in what number ? 

I hope I have n't exhausted your patience by 
this time, for I have an original conundrum to 
propound before "winding up"; here it is. 
Why is a stewed oyster like Fort Sumter r 

Answer. Because it has been shelled. 

Does that deserve a corner in the " Letter Box " ? 

I enclose a few verses, which are my production, 
and I hope may " pass muster " far our " Young 
Contributors' Department" Before I close, I must 
thank you for many a pleasant hour with the dear 
old yeuow-covered " Young Folks." 

Very respectfully, 

M I. A. L." 

Answers. — z. The battle of Ring's Mountain, 
N. C, was fought October 9, 2780, resulting in the 
defeat and surrender of General Ferguson's loyal- 
ist militia, and the death of Ferguson himself. 

a. A person may feel regret far occurrences he 
is in no way to blame for, but remorse implies 
self-reproach and the pangs of conscience. 

3. The name of that foolish individual was 
Herostratus. The structure destroyed was the fa- 
mous temple of Diana, at Ephesus, — accounted 
one of the Seven Wonders of the World. 

4. The article was written by Mrs, E. A. Walker, 
and it appeared in the "Atlantic Monthly," 
September, 1864. 

Your verses, we are sorry to say, are not quite up 
to the standard of Our Young Contributors. 

Our Young Contributors. — Accepted articles : 
" The Mysterious Gorilla," by Wm. S- Walsh ; 
"A Sleighride among ike Vermont Hilis," by 
K. de W. ; "Baby going to site/," by Daisy; 
and U A Spring Carol '," by Eudora M. Stone. 

First on our honorable mention list stands 
"Maggie's Christmas Joy," a touching little 
sketch by " Accrue, " which came too late far die 
holiday season. Then follow, " The Old Bureau," 
almost a ghost story, by "Parr " ; " A Southern 
Adventure;' by Lillie May; "Our Croquet 
Match," by J. Hawley; "How Zehe and J 
s^ent a Day on the Water," by C. M. G. ; "A 
Chase in the Big Weeds," by Cass ; " The Boat- 
Race," by Edward Ring; "A Bat Story," by 
Sarah H. Welsh ; " The Boston Fire," by Clover 
(age 10) ; " Voices in the SchoehRoom," by Lou ; 
"A Visit to a Colored Church," by Houston 
Merrill; "A Day on the St. Lawrence," by 
Robert S. Sloan ; " A Party given by my Geog- 
raphy," by* Alice Giles (age 10); "A Visit to 
Trinity," by " Remex " ; " The Carrier's Wife," 



by Ella Hamilton ; "A Picture," by L. P. ; and 
" Calm and Storm," a song by W. H. H. 

"Pete" is a well-written and touching little 
sketch, but some things about it want the air of 
probability, —and had not the writer been reading 
" Bobbie's Hotel," by Miss Phelps, which ap- 
peared in "Our Young Folks," August, 1870? 

In "Mousey Gray " and " Going out to Ser- 
vice " the writer did not make choice of very 
interesting subjects, nor treat them in an interest- 
ing way. 

The verses by " Letty," with some pretty images 
and musical lines, have many faults. For exam- 
ple:— 

" A robin swung low on a maple-tree 
That shadowed a cottage door. 
And opened his soul in a melody, — 
1 0, winter, winter is o'er I ' " 

*' A mother within eat list'ning the lay, 
Her life of its idol shorn ; 
For Death that hour had carried away 
Her youngest and fairest bom." 

Here the first stanza raises expectations which 
are quite disappointed when we come to " list'ning 
the lay " and '* her life of its idol shorn." How 
can a life be shorn of its idol ? And, Letty, do you 
not see that the following lines lack the first requi- 
site of verse, metre ? 

" Old Nature calleth to her children one by 
One, and folds them on her holy breast; 
Soothing them with lullabies, and singing— 
'Rest!'" 

Hbrs b enow for yon ) In a private letter from 
a favorite contributor in Norway, Me., we read : 
" Would you believe that as I write this (March 
1) there is a snow-drift fifteen feet high in the 
yard r Last Sabbath morning all the front first- 
story windows of the bouse were dark as night 
We had to shovel all day. I have an orchard of 
two acres with only the topmost branches out 
How to save the trees, or, at least* the buried limbs, 
is a problem." 

Thb fullest and best lists of answers to our last 
month's puzzles were sent in by Lottie and Harrie 
Carryl, Brother Jonathan, Charles C, E. Grace 
Shreve, W. and E. M. B., " Emma, Ettie, and 
Annie," Ivy, Ninie and Grade, Charlie Knight, 
Ella M. N. t Arthur Asken, Norah N., Sadie K. 
Plummet, " George, and George's mamma," Tillie 
H. Murray, Tom C H., Lixzie Grubb, and Wil- 
liam A. Howell. 

A good many shorter lists were received, togeth- 
er with numerous special answers to No. 35. As 
this is called a " prize rebus," some have inferred 
that a prize was to be paid for answering it, 
whereas the prise was awarded for the rebnsiiseK 
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OUR YOUNG FOLKS. 

An Illustrated Magazine 
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Vol. IX. 



MAY, 1873. 



No. V. 



DOING HIS BEST. 
CHAPTER XIII. 

ANNIE FELTON'S HOME. 

LL at once Forrest cried, " Here we are ! " and 
drove up to the side door of a small cottage on 
the outskirts of the next village. 

He went on to the barn with the horse* 
while Jack entered the house with Annie. She 
showed him into a comfortable sitting-room, 
where a bright wood-fire was burning and a 
supper- table was set ; and there she introduced 
him to her mother, — an older sister of Mrs. Chat- 
ford's, whom she much resembled, — and her father, 
a tall, spare, white-headed man in spectacles, who 
sat reading a newspaper by the fire. 

" And this," said she, " is Lion, our Lion," — for the 
dog had entered with them. " I have brought him in 
to show him to you and give him some supper ; then 
he is going to be a good dog and sleep in the barn." 
The old couple received Jack with great kindness, 
and patted and flattered the dog. " For we have 
heard not a little about you both," said Mrs. Felton, 
smiling under her gray hair and white cap-border; 
" Annie is never tired of talking about you." 
Jack was all aglow with pleasure. 
" And now," said Annie, " you must hear of Lion's last exploit, — some- 
thing that happened this very evening." 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Jambs R. Osgood & Co., in the Office 
of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
VOL. DC. — NO. V. 17 




25 8 Doing his Best [May, 

" Wait a moment," said Mrs. Felton. And, turning to her husband, she 
added, " Had n't you better take a lantern to the bam, and help Forrest 
about the horse?" 

" He is old enough to take care of his own horse," replied Mr. Felton, 
good-humoredly. " It is n't dark." 

" Let me take the lantern out to him ! " cried Jack. 

11 If you will, — I know it will be a help," replied Mrs. Felton ; and Jack 
perceived, by the tones of her voice and the expression of her face, how 
fond she was of that big son of hers. " His father says I am inclined to 
baby him, but I don't know, — he is an only son, if he is big ! " And, having 
lighted the lantern for Jack, she brought a pair of slippers to the fire and 
left them warming for her son's feet 

During Jack's absence, Annie related all she knew of the adventure at the 
tavern, including an important fact unknown to the boy himself, On his 
return with Forrest she went to her* own chamber; and the parents, with 
rather anxious faces, Jack observed, followed Forrest into an adjoining 
room, where he went to hang his coat away. The door was but partly closed, 
and presently Jack, left alone with Lion by the fire, heard low voices. 

"Annie says — that man — are you quite sure?" Mrs. Felton whis- 
pered. 

" Yes, I knew the rascal almost at first sight," replied Forrest And he 
added, in answer to another question which Jack did not understand, u No, 
he did n't appear to ; I have changed more in nine years than he has." 

" I had hoped the fellow would never show his face in this part of the 
country again !" said Mr. Felton. "It will be a terrible trouble to your 
Uncle Chatford's folks if they— " The rest was lost to Jack. 

" Annie and I both thought — " It was Forrest's voice, which also sank 
so low as to be quite indistinct. 

" That 's right 1 " said his mother. " It might lead to — The secret has 
been well kept till now — Not even Moses — " 

Jack now became sensible that he was overhearing parts of a conversation 
not intended for his ears ; and though his curiosity was intensely excited, 
he felt that it would not be right for him longer to keep still and listen. So, 
leaning over the hearth where Lion lay, he began to pet him and talk to 
him, in which innocent occupation he was engaged when Annie reappeared. 

The family were soon gathered around the supper-table, when the cloud 
of trouble by which the old couple's faces were at first overcast gradually 
passed away. And now Jack was charmed by the easy and familiar inter- 
course which took place between his new friends. They chatted gayly 
together, and even joked each other in a delicate way, appearing more like 
pleasant companions than like parents and children. The old man's quiet, 
dry remarks, uttered with a humorous twinkle of the eye ; Mrs. Felton's 
genial talk, which seemed to flow from her very heart ; Forrest's hearty, 
deep-chested laugh ; and, above all, the silvery sweetness of Annie's voice, 
and the grace and gentleness of all her words and ways, — filled Jack with a 
sort of wondering delight 



1 873.] Doing his Best. 259 

u Oh ! " thought he, " am I that miserable little swearing canal-boat driver 
of less than a year ago ? What company I kept and had pleasure in then ! 
And now ! — O, I don't believe there is anywhere in the world so beautiful 
a family as this ! " 

And what had he done to merit his good fortune ? Nothing, he thought ; 
it was all owing to the kindness of his friends, — to her more than all ! And 
his eyes grew misty with grateful tears as he fixed them on the dear, sweet 
face of Annie Felton. 

He had the " spare room " in the house that night, — a great honor. He 
had never been treated so well in all his life. At Mr. Chatford's he was a 
boy with the boys ; here he was entertained as a guest 

After he got to bed, as he lay thinking of Mrs. Pipkin's sharp tongue and 
Phin's unlovely disposition, he could not help wishing that his home was 
here with Annie and her friends. 

" But that is mean in me ! " he said to himself, checking these thoughts. 
"After all the Chatfords have done for me — they are so good — and dear 
little Kate — no, no ! I won't be dissatisfied ; that would be more than 
foolish in me, — it would be wicked ! I '11 put up with the few disagreeable 
things I have to endure there, and be thankful for these privileges ! " And 
his heart seemed cradled in a sea of bliss as, with Annie's beautiful image in 
his mind, he went to sleep. 

Thus began the boy's brief visit to this charming family. His stay with 
them was too eventless to be dwelt upon, and I fear many lads would have 
found it tame ; but to him it was of itself a great event, — one that was sure 
to have an influence upon all his after life. 

Mr. Felton was a farmer who, finding old age coming upon him, had wisely 
given up hard work and the care of his land, and retired to the quiet life 
of the village. There he kept his horse, his cow, and his garden, and, with- 
out being rich, was able to live in ease and comfort He was full of experi- 
ence, which, though a rather silent man, he took pleasure in imparting to 
good listeners, — and Jack was one. 

His son Forrest practised surveying in summer and taught village sing- 
ing-schools in winter ; and by him Jack was inspired with the ambition to 
learn both singing and surveying. He began those studies at once, with 
books which Forrest loaned him ; and at the same time got from Annie 
some knowledge of the meaning of English grammar, concerning which all 
Master Dinks's instruction had failed to give him any distinct idea. 

But, after all, the best result of the visit was the interior culture Jack 
received from being in the presence and breathing the atmosphere of those 
superior persons. His pure and enthusiastic devotion to Annie made him 
keenly susceptible to their influence ; and all the strings of his heart became 
attuned to the harmony of their lives. 

He made a few acquaintances in the village, coasted, snow-balled, skated 
on the frozen creek, and had a few sleigh-rides with Annie and her brother. 
And so the days flew by on joyous wings, until his stay was cut short by the 
arrival of another visitor. This was Moses ChatfonL 



260 Doing his Best. [May, 



CHAPTER XIV. 

MOSES BRINGS GOOD NEWS. 

Moses had come to take Jack home, and he had brought some interest- 
ing news. This he crowded into a single jubilant sentence as he jumped 
from the sleigh, and afterwards related circumstantially as he sat with the 
family about the evening fire. 

" I tell ye, we had great doings at school after you left, Jack ! Things 
grew worse and worse till last Wednesday, when the big row came." 

"What began it?" 

" Why, you remember, when there happened to be no wood in the school- 
house, Dinks would tell some of the boys, at recess, to bring in some." 

" Yes ; and sometimes they would bring in a little, and sometimes a good 
deal ; then sometimes they would forget all about it, and Dinks would have 
no dry wood for his fire the next morning." 

"Well, Tuesday forenoon, he said to the boys, as we were going out, 
1 Some of you bring in some wood when you come in.' Now somebody's 
business is nobody's business ; and not a boy carried in a stick except Step 
Hen Treadwell, — he took in two little sticks, and got well laughed at when 
he laid them down. Dinks was wrathy ; and in the afternoon he said, * Now 
every one of you bring in an armful of wood, after recess ! I '11 see,' says he, 
* if we can't have wood enough in the school-room to last one day ! ' 

" So we thought we would give him enough. I started the thing without 
knowing how it was coming out ; I went to the wood-pile, and filled my 
arms as well as I could, then got the other boys to load me up to the 
chin. I went staggering in, and threw down my contribution by the stove. 
Dinks was tickled. * There ! ' says he ; ' that 's the way I We should have 
wood enough if we had a few boys like Moses Chatford ! ' Then in came 
Smith Marston, his red head almost hidden behind a small mountain of 
wood. ' Ha ! there 's another smart boy ! ' says Dinks. * You need n't 
load up quite so heavy next time, boys ; but I 'm glad to see you ain't afraid 
of using your muscles.' Then in came two more tremendous loads ; and 
still they kept coming; crash, crash, down on the floor by the stove. 
Dinks's praises of smart boys grew fainter and fainter, and finally stopped ; 
he looked red as fire, and finally cried out, ' There ! there ! I did n't tell 
you to bring in the whole wood-pile ! That will do ! Tell the other boys 
that will do 1 ' But somehow the word didn't get to the other boys, and the 
wood kept coming till you never saw such a sight ! the stove was almost 
covered up. Dinks was mad as fury. He picked out five boys, who had 
stayed to heap up the other boys' arms, and came last, all loaded to the 
chin. He called over their names. 

" * Samuel Narmore, 'Lonzo Gannett, Randolph Hildreth, Jeremiah Ma- 
son, 'Liphalet Buel,' says he, rapping on the table, while they brushed the 
dirt and snow from their coats, * after school, you can each of you carry out 
a handful of wood ; and as much as you brought in. Remember ! ' 



1 873.] Doing his Best. 261 

"Jerry Mason and Liphe Buel," Moses explained to his relatives, "are 
the biggest boys in school ; they had never been punished by Dinks, and 
they did n't believe he would dare lay hands on them. They just smiled, 
and whispered among themselves, ' He has no control over us after school 
hours ; he can't set us to carrying out wood.' So, when school was out, 
they walked past the wood-pile, and walked 0$ independent as could 
be. Of course the other three boys followed their example. x 

" Dinks called after 'em. ' Boys 1 ' says he, ' come back and carry out 
that wood, or I '11 give you a kind of wood you won't like so well to-morrow 
morning ! ' But they paid no attention to him. 

" Well, the next morning Dinks came to school, bringing with him six 
splendid hickory whips, — one apiece for the five boys, and an extra one. 
The culprits came in together, looking remarkably cheerfuL It turned out 
that they had agreed among themselves not to take off their coats for Mas- 
ter Dinks, and not to hold out their hands to be feruled ; and to arm them- 
selves against the hickory whips they had each put on several shirts and an 
extra pair or two of trousers. Dinks began the business of the day by taking 
down his whips and calling the five fellows to * stand out in the middle-of 
the floor.' Out they marched, grinning hard to keep their spirits up. Dinks 
began to season his whips in the fire. ' Off with your coats, boys ! ' says he. 
Not a boy stirred. ' Your coats, I say ! ' 

" * Excuse me,' says Jerry Mason, with his head on one side, and his hand 
on his hip, ' but I 've been taught at home that 't ain't perlite to take off my 
coat in company. I 'd rather be excused.' 

M ' Same with me,' said Liphe Buel. 

" * I got on a ragged shirt,' says Rant Hildreth, ' an' marm told me not to 
let anybody see it' As he had bragged to us that he meant to make this 
excuse, we all laughed. 

" Dinks stamped with his foot ' Silence ! ' says he. I suppose by that 
time he had found out that to get those five coats off was a rather big job, 
and that he had better shirk it. So he says, ' Very well, you can be pun- 
ished with your coats on, if you prefer, but you '11 be whipped all the harder.' 
They only smiled. Then he began and used up several whips on them, 
principally about the legs ; and they smiled all the while. They laughed as 
they took their seats, and Rant Hildreth muttered something out loud. 

" « What did he say ?' Dinks asked. Phin up and told : * He said it did 
n't hurt him a bit, for he has got on three pair o' trousers ! so have they 
all, — they 've all got on two or three pair ! * 

" ' Come back here, every one of you ! ' says Dinks ; and they all marched 
back, looking a little more sober than before. He grabbed his ruler. ' Hold 
out your hand ! ' says he to Rant. 

" * I 've been licked once for what you 'd no right to lick me for at aiy 
says Rant, ' and I won't hold out my hand ! ' At that the master began to 
beat him over the elbows and ears. Rant dodged and parried the blows for 
a while, till they came too thick and heavy for him ; his extra shirts and three 
pair of trousers didn't protect his skull; then, remembering, I suppose, 



262 Doing his Best. [May, 

Jack's illustrious example, he started to run out of school Dinks started 
after him, and caught him by the coat-tail. We heard an awful rip ! Rant 
got away, but his coat-tail did n't ! Dinks brought in the trophy, brandish- 
ing it like a black flag, and laid it on the table. He then began on Lon Gan- 
nett, and was knocking him over the head in the same way, when Rant 
came to the door, howling like an Indian : ' Give me my coat-tail ! give me 
back my coat-tail, or 1 11 send this club at your head ! ' 

" In came the club ; it hit the basin on the stove, and knocked the hot 
water all over Dinks and Lon Gannett and Sam Narmore. Then Jerry 
Mason spoke up : ' See here, Master ! I guess it 's about time to stop this 
thing. It 's dangerous knocking a boy over the head that way ; and I would 
n't tear off any more coat-tails, if I was you. — Liphe, what do you think ? ' 

"'I'm o' the same opinion, 1 says Liphe. 'Then le's 's stop it,' says 
Jerry. * Agreed,' says Liphe. 

" Dinks had already stopped. But he was too late. The fellows took 
him, dragged him to the blackboard, tied up his thumbs with one of his own 
cords as high as he could reach, and left him roaring for help. 

" ' School 's dismissed for the rest of this winter ! ' says Jerry Mason ; and 
he and the rest went to getting their books together. Rant Hildreth took 
his coat-tail and put it in his pocket There was a terrible uproar. I went 
and cut down the master, and he tried to restore order. But it was no use. 
He talked a little while with two or three of the big girls, who took his part, 
then grabbed his ruler and dictionary, and other private property, and went 
up to Squire Peternot's. I waited till all the rest were gone, then locked up 
the school-house and carried home the key. 

"Well, there was a heavy after-clap ; old Peternot wanted his nephew to 
go on with the school, and came over with him to see father about it 
There was a meeting of the trustees at our house that night, and there was 
a lively time. I was called as a witness. You should have been there, 
Jack, to hear the old man rave and thump the floor with his cane ! But 
father can be as set as anybody when his mind is once made up ; and, to 
tell you the truth, his mind was made up about Dinks's style of school-keep- 
ing before you came away, only he was careful not to say so before us boys. 

"Well, Dinks was dismissed, and the next dayfother rode over to the 
Basin and hired the new master. He had already had some talk with him 
on the subject, and knew what he was about So school will begin again next 
Monday, Jack ; and your friend, Percy Lanman, is to be the master." 

CHAPTER XV. 

GOOD-NATURED JOHN WILKINS ONCE MORE. 

This good news reconciled Jack to the necessity of cutting short his visit 
and returning home with Moses ; though when the time came for bidding 
his friends farewell, the next morning, it required some stoutness of heart to 
keep back his tears. He had spent the happiest week of his life in the 
house he was leaving ; and when would ever such bliss be his again ? 



1873.] Doing his Best. 263 

It was Saturday. They had the day before them ; and the boys, to gratify 
a natural curiosity, stopped in the village where Jack had made the acquaint- 
ance of Mr. John Wilkins, to see if they couto learn anything more of that 
good-natured man. The bar-tender said he had heard the fellow played a 
queer game on the tailor who mended his coat ; and so the boys paid the 
tailor a visit 

" Yes, he did, indeed ! " said that worthy man, on being questioned as to 
the fact " The way on 't was this. I charged him half a dollar for the job, 
and give him his supper besides. I thought I ought to have another shil- 
ling but he said if t would take fifty cents, he would show me a curi's thing to 
do with a hat As he seemed such a drea'ful good-natered man, — be called 
himself so, and he was so, — I could n't stand out about the odd shillin' ; 
besides, I don't believe he had another cent So, when he paid me, he took 
my hat, — to be perfectly fair, he said ; I might think 't wa' n't quite fair if 
he used his'n, — then laid the half-dollar down on the counter, told me to 
watch sharp, and put the hat over it 4 Now,' says he, ' you 're sure you 
know where the money is.' * I ruther guess I do,' says I, 'since I 've seen 
it with my own eyes go under the hat' ' You 're sure it 's under the hat ? ' 
says he. ' Sure as I be of anything in this world,' says I. ' Of course,' says 
he ; * you 'd be willin', I s'pose, to bet a considerable sum on 't ? ' 'I '11 bet 
a thousan' dollars,' says I. ' Don't bet any foolish sum,' says he, * but jest 
bet what money you can lay down. Jest a good-natered trick, ye know,' says 
he. So I took what change I had out of the till, —about a dollar and sev- 
enty-five cents; he lifted up his hat, — there was the half-dollar, for I 
watched sharp; he put all in a neat little pile together, one piece top o' 
f other, an' then put the hat over 'em agin. ' Now,' says he, * you bet what 
money there is, that it 's under the hat ? ' * Sartin I do,' says I. ' Now, 
watch sharp,' says he, • for the curi's thing *s to come. Now,' says he, ' lift 
the hat' I lifted it, and was never so amazed in all my life. There wa' n't 
no money under it ! ' Sartin not,' says he, 4 for it 's in my pocket. I believe, 
my friend,' says he, • you 've lost the bet I wish ye a very good evenin' ! ' 
An', 'fore I could scratch my stupid pate twice, the rogue was gone." 

The boys could not help laughing at the tailor's simple story ; and as they 
rode on, they had a good deal of talk about the good-natured Mr. Wilkins. 
Jack was tempted to relate what he had overheard of Forrest's conversation 
with his parents, that first night at Mr. Felton's house ; but he thought that 
he had no right to speak of it 

The boys reached home about noon ; and Moses, entering the house be- 
fore Jack, came upon a curious scene. Phin, sitting upright in a chair, was 
grinning with delight while a travelling phrenologist fingered his skull and 
described his brilliant and amiable traits of character. The science the 
stranger professed was new in those days, and the idea of a person's talents 
and disposition being indicated by the "bumps" on his head appeared to 
many people a simple absurdity. The deacon, however, had kindly per- 
mitted the experiment, and had soon laid aside his newspaper to listen more 
attentively than he had ever expected to do to " such nonsense." Mrs. 



264 



Doing his Best. 



[May, 



t .iii 



1. •''..'-...- 



w 




M Jett • good-natered Trick, ye know." 

Chatford had dropped her sewing ; little Kate stood by her side. Mr. Pip- 
kin, tipped back in his chair against the chimney, sat with open-mouthed 
wonder making an extraordinary display of frontal ivory ; while Mrs. Pip- 
kin, half-way between the kitchen and the dinner-table, paused with a dish 
of steaming vegetables in her hands. 

" Dr. Doyley, Moses," said the deacon, introducing his son. " Be quiet," 
he added, with a smile, " and you '11 hear something." 

" Phrenology ? " suggested Moses. 

"That's the name on't, I believe," said Mr. Pipkin; "though I don't 
see why they should call it yjw-knowledgy, long 's we 're expected to pay 
twenty-five cents apiece for havin' our bumps felt on." 

Dr. Doyley smiled indulgently. He was a rather slight man, dressed in 
a once genteel, but now rather threadbare, coat, buttoned tight across his 
chest, concealing every vestige of linen (if there was any to conceal) except 
a pompous shirt-collar. His hair was stuck straight up on his forehead; 
which, in addition to a pair of large-bowed spectacles, made him look — as 
Mr. Pipkin observed — " wise as any old owl." 

" Approbativeness — very large," he was saying. " This boy is fond of 
praise, and he never can be comf 'table in his mind a minute while he sees 
another boy a gittin' more 'n he does." 



I873-] Doing his Best. 265 

u By hokey ! that *s a feet," cried Mr. Pipkin. 

" But that 's a good trait, properly directed/ 9 said the man of science. 
" Gives one the desire to rise in the world, to be as big and as smart as any- 
body. And he '11 rise, too, this boy will ; I find it in his bumps. He won't 
git his livin' by hard work, neither ; he 's got talents, he 's got great talents 
for makin' his way." 

" Where do you find 'em ? " Phin inquired, immensely flattered. 

" Here, — all about here," replied Dr. Doyley, his nimble fingers playing 
a lively tattoo all over the boy's cranium. "Perceptive faculties — large; 
knowledge of human nater — very large; suavity — he can be polite as a 
basket o' chips, if he takes a notion." 

" That 's when he sees it for his interest to be," said Moses. " How 
about conscience ? " 

" Conscientiousness — not remarkably developed, but fair ; 't will do ; 
enough for all practical purposes. There 's such a thing as a man's bavin' 
too much conscience ; it prevents him from risin' in the world. Acquisi- 
tiveness — the boy has large acquisitiveness, but that is a good trait, too, 
properly directed. Without that he would never accumulate the large for- 
tin' he is sure to do afore he has lived many years." 

u Come, come ! " said the deacon, with a frown ; " I 'd rather you would 
n't put such notions into the boy's head." 

" I 'm only savin* what I find in his head. If the notions ain't there 
already, they '11 be there soon enough ; he has only to follow his genius. 
He '11 rise, he '11 make his way ; it 's his nater." 

" Talkin' about nater," said Mr. Pipkin, " who does he take arter ? " 

The phrenologist looked first at Mr. Chatford, then at Mrs. Chatford and 
Kate, and finally at Moses. Then he stepped lightly and airily, and fin- 
gered the heads of each. 

" That young man," said he, pointing at Moses, " has both his parents' 
traits in about equal proportion ; p'r'aps a little more his father's than his 
mother's. The little girl has got most mother in her. But here" — re- 
turning to Phineas — " is somethin' extraordinary. I can't find that this boy 
takes after either parent. I 'd venter a trifle that his friends often hear it 
remarked that he 's an odd one, not like any of the rest of the family." 

Mr. Chatford's newspaper dropped from his lap to the floor. The incre- 
dulity which at first lurked in his smile had now quite vanished, and his 
countenance appeared full of astonishment and something like apprehension. 
Mrs. Chatford turned pale, while she kept her eyes on the man of science 
with a most searching look. Mrs. Pipkin nodded, with a sarcastic tighten- 
ing of the lips ; while her husband exclaimed, " By hokey ! you 've hit the 
mark this time, if you never did afore ! " 

41 1 sometimes hit the mark," said the learned doctor ; " and if you '11 
allow me presently to examine your head, — only twenty-five cents, fifty 
cents for a written chart, — I may surprise you more yit. I can describe 
your traits of character ; tell you what sort of a career you are fitted for, and 
what sort of a person you ought to marry." 



266 



Doing his Best 



[May, 



" My husband is a married man," said Mrs. Pipkin, sharply, pausing again 
between the kitchen and the table, " and don't need any advice on that subject" 

Mr. Doyley bowed politely. "Yit it might be a satisfaction to be told 
that he 's made a wise choice ; that science itself could n't 'a' guided him 
better in the selection of a companion, — for I can see so much without 
goin' near your heads." (Smiles from Mrs. Pipkin, and a very broad one 
from Mr. Pipkin.) " A good-natered man, — pYaps too good-natered ; that 's 
like me," said the phrenologist, glancing about the room, — " I 'm too good- 
natered for my own interest, and — " 

Just then a new face entered the door, and the quick eye of the man of 
science fell upon Jack. He hesitated a moment, but rallied immediately, 
and was going on, when Lion bounced into the room. With a terrific snarl 
he sprang at the doctor, who in sudden alarm ran backwards towards the 
chimney, and sat down very unceremoniously in Mr. Pipkin's lap. 

"Take him off! take him off!" he shrieked, hugging Mr. Pipkin in a 
frenzy of fear, while the chair slid from under them, and both rolled on the 
hearth together. 

Jack with cuffs and threats sent the dog back, and the stranger leaped 
nimbly to his feet He was imitated, though rather more clumsily, by Mr. 
Pipkin, grumbling, and brushing the ashes from his coat-tails. 



K u4 




A Recognition. 



I873-] Polly. 267 

" Ah, my young friend ! " said the phrenologist, recovering his lost self- 
possession, together with his spectacles, which had dropped upon the 
hearth, "I believe we have met before." 

" I should think so ! " cried Jack. " Now your spectacles are offj you 
look \\V& good-natered John Wilkins/" 

" And I know you ! " exclaimed Mr. Chatford, advancing with his right 
hand angrily clinched. " John Wilkins ! Dr. Doyley ! " he repeated ; " I 
know another name for you ! How dare you enter my house in this way, 
you miserable scoundrel ? " 

And the usually mild deacon seized the " best-natered man in the world " 
by the coat-collar. 



J. T. Trowbridge. 



co&<r<gft9'd<GK>»9 



POLLY. 

WHO 'S this coming down the stairs, 
Putting on such lofty airs ; 
With that hump upon her back, 
And her little heels click, clack? 
Such a funny little girl, 
With a funny great long curl 
Hanging from a mound of hair; 
And a hat 'way back in the air, 
Just to show a little border 
Of yellow curls, all out of order. 
She's a silly girl, I guess, 
I 'm glad it is n't— Why, bless 
My soul ! it 's our little Polly 
Tricked out in all that folly ! 
Well, I declare, I never 
Was so beat, for if ever 
There was a sensible girl, 
I thought 'twas Ijttle Polly Earl. 
And here— Well, it's very queer 
To come back, after a year, 
And find my Polly changed like this, — 
A hunched-up, bunched-up, furbelowed miss, 
With a steeple of a hat, 
And her hair like a mat, 
It 's so frightfully frowzled * 
Arid roughed up and tousled ! 
O Polly, Polly!— Well, my dear, 
So you're glad grandfather's here? 



268 Polly. [May, 

And I confess that kiss 

Does smack of the Polly I miss, — 

The girl with the soft, smooth hair, 

Instead of this kinked-up snare. 

What, you 're just the same Polly, 

In spite of all this folly? 

And what is that you say 

About your grandmother's day. 

That you guess the folly 

Hasn't just begun? — O Polly, 

If you could only have seen 

Your grandmother at eighteen ! 

What 's that about the puffs 

And the stiffened-up ruffs 

That they wore in the time 

Of your grandmother's prime ? 

And the big buckram sleeves 

That stood out like the leaves 

Of the old-fashioned tables ; 

And the bonnets big as gables, 

And the laced-up waists, — Why, sho, 

Polly, how your tongue does go ! 

Little girls should be seen, not heard 

Quite so much, Polly, on my word. 

O, I 'm trying to get away, 

Eh, from your grandmother's day, 

But I 'm not to escape 

Quite so easy from a scrape? 

What, you expect me to say 

That your grandmother's day 

Was as foolish as this ? — 

Polly, give me a kiss ; 

I 'm beaten, I see — 

And I '11 agree, I '11 agree 

That young folks find 

All things to their mind ; 

And in your grandmother's time, 

When I too was in my prime, 

I've no doubt, Polly, 

I looked at all the folly 

Connected with the lasses 

Through rose-colored glasses, 

As the youths of to-day 

Look at you, Polly, eh ? 

But I 've given you fair warning 

How older folk see, — so, Polly, good morning! 

Nora Perry. 



1873] About EUctrotyping and some other Things. 269 



ABOUT ELECTROTYPING AND SOME OTHER THINGS. 

*' 1\T OW> father," said Ada, speaking for the other children, as Mr. Les- 

1 ^ lie entered the sitting-room in dressing-gown and slippers, indicat- 
ing that he had an evening at leisure, "you 've told us about electricity, but 
I want to know what an electrotype is." 

"An electrotype," Mr. Leslie explained, "is a type or exact likeness 
(sometimes called a fac-simile) of any engraving, stamp, or page of printing- 
types, produced in metal by means of electricity. Electrotypes are usually 
made of copper, and are used to print books and newspapers from, instead 
of wood-engravings and commdn printing-types. 

" Nearly all the illustrations or pictures," he continued, " in your books 
and papers, which make them so much more interesting, are first cut or 
engraved on a hard kind of wood called box-wood. This is a slow process, 
and costs much money. The wood-cuts, or ' blocks,' as they are called, 
may be used to print from directly ; but the wood wears away so rapidly 
*that a few hundred impressions would spoil all the finer lines and destroy 
the beauty of the engraving, and then it would have to be done over again. 
But it has been found that this wonderfully obliging force called electricity is 
ready, not only to carry messages for us all over the globe ' as quick as a 
wink,' to use the children's phrase, but to make for us, in a few minutes, 
and at a small expense, an exact copy of any wood-engraving, with all its 
delicate lines complete, in very hard copper •, from which, perhaps, a hundred 
thousand copies may be printed, — and then, when this is worn out, to make 
another with equal readiness and small expense. 

"Besides this, the common printing-types, though made of metal, are not 
nearly so hard as copper, and in constant use they soon wear out ; but when 
these types have been once made ready for printing a page of a book or 
newspaper, electricity will, in the same way as with an engraving, make for 
us a precise copy of the page, in the same hard metal, from which as many 
impressions as are usually wanted can be struck off. Not only this, but 
the same wonderful force will spread very delicately over the face of com- 
mon printing-types a thin, but very hard, coating of copper, which makes 
them last much longer than they will without it. 

" In these ways electricity not only brings us knowledge quickly from all 
parts of the world, but helps to make our books and newspapers cheaper 
and handsomer than they would otherwise be." 

" Wonderfully obliging, indeed ! " exclaimed Lizzie. " I thought you had 
told us of the most curious things before about this electricity, but I think 
this beats all the rest. Makes pictures for our books, does it ? " 

"Why, how can electricity hold a pencil to draw pictures ? " asked Willie, 
wonderingly, remembering his own laborious attempts in that line. 

"It does not draw pictures," replied Mr. Leslie ; "but, as I said, it makes 
copies of them after they are drawn and engraved." 



270 About Electrotyping and seme other Things. [May, 

" You told us, father, that lightning sometimes makes pictures on the skin 
of persons who are struck by it Are these electrotypes made in the same 
way ? " asked Charles. 

" Not precisely, but the process seems to be somewhat similar," was the 
reply. " Those pictures, you will recollect, are supposed to be made by the 
lightning, in sudden discharges, tearing off particles of the surface which it 
leaves, carrying them through the air, and depositing them on the surface 
of the next object to which it passes, or which iUis said to 'strike.' But in 
electrotyping the gentle, steady current of a battery is employed. 

" First, a quantity of copper is dissolved in sulphuric acid (oil of vitriol) 
contained in a large tub or trough. Copper will dissolve in this acid very 
much as salt or sugar will melt in water. A plate or sheet of copper is sus- 
pended on a metal rod in this trough, to keep up the supply. The liquid 
thus prepared is called a copper bath. 

" Next, a mould is taken of the wood-engraving or page of types of which 
a copy is desired, by pressing it upon beeswax, gutta-percha, or some other 
soft material This mould receives, of course, an exact impress of every 
line, however delicate, in the object to be copied. But wax and gutta-percha 
are non-conductors of electricity, so nothing can be done with this mould* 
until it is in some way made a conductor. This is done by covering its sur- 
face very carefully with finely powdered plumbago, or black lead, — the same 
that your black-lead pencils are made of (otherwise called graphite), which 
is a good conductor of electricity. All loose particles of this are carefully 
brushed or blown 0$ and then the mould is suspended in the copper bath, 
face to face with the plate of copper, but several inches from it 

" Then the copper plate is connected by wire with the positive pole of an 
electric battery, and the mould with the negative pole. A current of elec- 
tricity at once passes through the liquid, causing the fine particles of copper 
to be slowly deposited on the surface of the mould, nicely filling every part 
and line. These particles adhere firmly together, making a very hard coat- 
ing of solid metal. When this coating has become about the thickness of a 
sheet of tin, which requires not more than two or three hours, the mould is 
removed, and then the copper presents a face which is an exact copy of the 
engraving or type which was impressed on the wax. 

" But this thin layer of copper, called a " shell," cannot be used to print 
from. A quantity of melted metal, chiefly lead, is then poured upon the back 
of it, which fills every part and, when cooled, adheres firmly. After trimming, 
the whole forms a solid plate somewhat less than one fourth of an inch in 
thickness. This is what is called an electrotype plate, and when fastened 
upon a block of wood of the proper height it is ready for the printer's use. 
Each page of ' Our Young Folks' Magazine • is electrotyped in this way every 
month, and so are most of the books issued by its publishers. And this 
is the way electricity copies pictures for you, and helps to give you much 
nicer and cheaper books than were to be had when I was young." 

" Some books are said to be stereotyped, and others electrotyped. Do 
both of these words mean the same thing ? " asked Charles. 



1 873.] About Electrotyping and some other Things. 271 

" No ; stereotyping is a different process, in which electricity is not used. 
The word stereotype means a firm or solid type. To make stereotype plates, 
the ordinary printing- types are set and prepared as for electrotyping ; then 
a mould is taken of them in a paste made by mixing ground plaster-of-paris 
with water. This soon dries, and is baked until well hardened. Then a 
quantity of melted type-metal is poured into this mould, and this, when 
cooled, presents a complete copy of the types from which the mould was 
formed, in one solid plate. Wood-cuts can be copied in the same way. But 
the type-metal, though harder than wood, is not as hard as copper, and will 
not wear nearly so long. Stereotyping has been in use for many years, and 
was a great improvement when first invented. It costs somewhat less than 
the electrotype process, and serves well where there are no fine engravings, 
and where but a few thousand copies are to be printed/' 

" Are there other useful things that electricity can do for us ?" asked Ada. 

" Many others," * replied Mr. Leslie, " and one of its most useful services 
is the plating of forks, knives, spoons, pitchers, and many other articles of 
common use, with a thin coating of silver, making them much more beautiful 
and agreeable than when made wholly of the cheaper metal, and yet bring- 
ing the cost of these refining elegances within the reach of thousands of 
people who otherwise could not procure them." 

" Please tell us how that is done," urged Charley. 

"The process is very similar to that of electrotyping. A silver bath, 
instead of a copper one, is prepared by dissolving silver in a powerful acid, 
and a plate of silver 

' I I 

in the bath, on metal 

, . r , Silver- Plating Battery. 

hooks, from a rod 

connected with the negative pole of the battery. The electric current imme- 
diately begins to deposit fine particles of silver all over the articles, just as 
in the mould of the electrotype ; and this coating may be made as thin or as 
thick as desired. After removal from the bath, the plated articles have a 
dull appearance, and require to be polished or burnished, when they pre- 
sent the usual brilliant surface. Large manufactories exist, both in this 

• See " Wonders of Electricity," published by Scribner, Armstrong, & Co., New York, which con- 
tains a large amount of entertaining and valuable information on these topics. It is one of the mod 
useful books of the interesting " Wonder Library." 



272 About Electrotyping and some other Things. [May, 

country and in Europe, for the purpose of carrying on this elegant branch 
of artisanship. 

" In the same way," continued Mr. Leslie, " any metallic article may be 
readily plated with gold. Many tasteful ornaments, and, in feet, a large por- 
tion of the jewelry, watches, chains, etc., commonly worn, have been gilded 




by this process. A very trifling amount of the precious metal is required, 
and many persons are, no doubt, deceived by appearances. ' All that glitters 
is not gold,' and not only metallic articles, but threads and cloths of vari- 
ous kinds are by this electric process covered with coatings of either gold 
or silver so exceedingly delicate that they seem spun from the metals them- 



I873-] About Electrotyping and some other Things. 



V3 



selves. A few cents' worth of gold are sufficient to gild a dress in a very 
gorgeous manner, without sensibly increasing its weight Many showy 
costumes of the theatre and the ball-room are indebted to this wonderful 
power of electricity for their brilliancy. 

" Even fruits and the most delicate flowers can be submitted to this pro- 
cess, and exact representations of choice specimens are produced in gold 
and silver, by coating them with these precious metals. And there seems 
no end to the ways in which electricity may be made to serve us in this 
branch of art 

"But I nearly forgot to tell you that this marvellous force, besides so 
deftly copying for us wood-engravings when these have once been prepared, 
is itself an engraver. It will engrave pictures on copper and on silver with 
the utmost nicety and exactness. One way is this : a drawing is made on a 
plate of copper, with a kind of oily ink that is a non-conductor, and this 
plate is placed in an acid bath, and connected with the positive pole of a 
battery. The electric current then eats out and carries away those portions 
of the plate that are not covered by the ink, cutting the finest lines with the 
utmost delicacy, and leaving an engraved surface that may be printed from. 

" Another way is to coat a copper plate with varnish, and cut the Knes of 
a drawing through this coating ; then the plate is attached to the positive 
pole in a copper bath, and another plate of the same size, attached to the 
negative pole, is suspended face to face with and quite near the first The 
electric current dissolves the copper in the 
lines not protected by the varnish, and de- 
posits it on the negative plate, where an 
exact copy of the drawing is reproduced in 
raised lines. 

*' In engraving on silver, a daguerreotype 
likeness of a person or object is first taken 
on a sensitive silver plate. The process is 
about the same as that of taking a photo- 
graph negative on glass. Then the parts 
and lines that are to be preserved are care- 
fully covered with mercury, while those to 
be cut away are left exposed. The plate is 
then put in a bath of a peculiar kind of acid, 
and the electric current applied as before, 
when the exposed parts of the plate are 
eaten away in about half a minute, leaving 
the desired engraving. In this case, the 
sun does the drawing or painting of the pic- 
ture, and electricity the engraving. °" H** 1 by Electridt y- 

" But I cannot tell you of all the ingenious ways in which this wonderful 
agency has already been set to work for us in producing articles of use and 
beauty. Yet I must mention one more service which it is capable of per- 
forming. It may be made to give a most brilliant light, which is used to 

VOL. DC — NO. V. l8 




274 What shall we name our Baby t [May, 

some extent in lighthouses, theatres, and in microscopic examinations and 
exhibitions." 

"Is that the way the capitol at Washington is lighted?" asked Ada. 
" When I was there, I was told it was lighted by electricity." 

" No ; the capitol is lighted by burning gas ; but the gas-jets are set on 
fire by electric currents or sparks being made to pass through them by 
means of wires fixed at each burner and connected with a battery. In this 
way electricity lights up instantly all the thousands of gas-burners in that 
immense building, saving the time and trouble of a man going to each one 
with a lighted match. The street-lamps of a whole city might be lighted in 
the same way, and then the lamplighters 9 occupation would be gone." 

Here Mr. Leslie drew his watch, — an intimation that he thought it time 
to stop, as little Willie had long been fast asleep on the sofa ; but Charley 
said, " Please, father, tell us one thing more. If electricity can make such a 
powerful magnet as you told us of the other evening, that could draw more 
than a ton, why can't it be made to draw our carriages, and even railway 
cars, and so take the place of horses and steam in many cases ? " 

" The only obstacle seems to be that of expense," was the reply. " A 
locomotive engine, moved by electro-magnets, was built a few years since by 
Professor Page of this country, who was aided in the work by an appropria- 
tion of money from Congress. It was successful, and is said to have run at 
the rate of eighteen miles an hour; but the materials used to generate the 
electric force required were found to cost far more than steam. Conse- 
quently, it * did not pay,' and that is the test to which everything has been 
brought in this world. Should the means be sometime discovered of ob- 
taining this mighty and mysterious force in a cheaper way, or of controlling 
the immense supplies that are generated in nature, as is not impossible, 
then we may literally harness the lightnings far our steeds, and ride in the 
wake of the thunderbolt Good night." 

N. A. Eliot. 



WHAT SHALL WE NAME OUR BABY? 

WHAT shall we name our baby? 
She is three months old to-day ; 
Father, brothers, and sisters, 
All want to have their say. 

Grandmas, aunties, and cousins, — 

Each has a name to suggest 
For the happy, unconscious darling, 

Asleep in her pillow-nest 



I873-] What shall we name our Baby t 2J$ 

Her father says, "Call her Mary" 

(But that would be alter mt), 
"Carrie, Annie, or Lucy," — 

Gentle home names are all three. 

His mother sends " Lydia and Hannah, 

Jane, Rachel, Rebecca, and Ruth, — 
All family names, my dear daughter, 

As are Patience and Prudence and Truth. 

But, O dear ! they don't fit my sweet baby ! 

My round, rosy darling, my queen ! 
I 'd as soon buy her false-fronts and glasses, 

Or dress her in black bombazine ! 

• 
My mother is much more romantic, 

Favors " Rosamond, Eleanor, Eve " ; — 

One auntie is crazy for " Ethel," 

Another, for sweet "Genevieve." , 

Uncle Tom writes, " Pray call her Britannia " 

(The name of the steamer, you know) ; 
Uncle Robert, I 'm sure, would like " Alice " 

(For his first love, who died long ago). 

But neither for ships nor for lost ones 
Can I name you, my wee daughter dear, 

Though you lose, by the means, the rich presents 
Now never forthcoming, I fear. 

If she only could choose for herself, now ! 

But the dear, dimpled darling is dumb; 
Lies a winking at flies on the ceiling, 

And sucking her little pink thumb. 

Mother '11 tear up this list, and she'll take you, 

Her precious, anonymous girl ! 
We'll not worry for names any longer, 

My own pinky-daisy, my pearl ! 

But stop! Surely some one once told me 
That " Daisy " and " Pearl " were the same, 

That both were but pettings for "Margaret,""" 
Now would n't that be a nice name ? 

While innocent, rosy, and little, 
My " Daisy," my " Pearl," you shall be ; 



276 The Azure Stone. [May, 

And "Margaret" should you grow stately, 
And " Meg " when you frolic in glee. 

And " Maggy " when sweet and domestic, 
And u Madge " when you 're witchy and wild, — 

In all moods, this sweet name will suit you, 
And this I will give you, my child ! 

Laura D. Nichols. 



THE AZURE STONE. 
" 1VF 0THER »" sald NeUie Hinton > " l wish you would do something for 

" I am always doing something for you, my dear," replied her mother. 

" I don't mean that, mother ; but I want you to buy something for me." 

" I cannot understand, my child, that you make much difference, after all," 
said Mrs. Hinton, smiling. " What do you want now, Nellie ? " 

" I will tell you, mother. One of the girls has the prettiest brooch ; it is 
made of a blue stone with only a narrow gold setting. I know you would 

like it I asked her What it was, and she said Lapis , and I can't think 

of the other name. She says it 's all the fashion now." 

" I think, my dear, that is the very reason I should not care to have you 
wear one." 

" O mother, if you could see it, you would not say that, I know," said 
Nellie, in a very earnest tone. 

" Nellie, before we say anything more on this subject, I would like you to 
find out the name of this beautiful stone. Then you may learn all about it, 
— where it is found, and anything else that you think I would like to hear. 
If I see you do your best, I will seriously consider your wish. You will find 
all you desire in a certain book in the library." 

You would not have supposed Nellie thought this too much trouble, if 
you had seen her rush from the room. She went into the library, and, open- 
ing one of the bookcases, she stood quite puzzled before the rows and rows 
of books. Very soon she began to think what sort of a book she must look 
for, and she concluded it must be about precious stones. At last, she found 
one with this very title on the back in gilt letters. She felt half the battle 
was won when she opened it, and, after studying the table of contents, found 
the words Lapis-lazuli. The last word she could not pronounce, but she 
found the page and commenced her study. 

Nellie's birthday was approaching, and Mrs. Hinton had been trying to 
think what her daughter would best like, when Nellie spoke of the brooch. 
She knew the pleasure she felt now in looking at the little ornaments her 
mother had given her when a young girL Nellie was fifteen, and the only 



1873.] The Azure Stone. 277 

daughter, so we must not be surprised if her mother loved to gratify her 
many wishes. Nothing was said on the subject for several days, but Mrs. 
Hinton noticed that Nellie was often deeply engaged in studying this book. 

One afternoon, after school, she drew her chair to her mother's side, say- 
ing, " Now, mother, I am ready. The stone is Lapis-lazuli. Brother Harry 
says lapis is a Latin word, and means stone, and lazuli is from the Arabic, 
signifying blue color. He says the accent comes upon kut, the u being pro- 
nounced very short It is sometimes called the Armenian stone. The most 
perfect color comes from Persia, although it is found in California and other 
places. It is always mixed with granite or limestone rock. When it is used 
for pins, ear-rings, and other small ornaments, the pure blue is sawed from 
the rock. But when vases, cups, and columns are made, it is preferred in 
large masses ; then, of course, it is mingled with the white stone, and it 
must look very pretty, — don't you think so, mother ? Queen Catharine of 
Russia built a palace in St Petersburg, and the walls in many of the rooms 
were entirely lined with it ; but I am sure it must have been rather cold com- 
fort in such a country. Among the crown jewels in France there is a 
large boat made of Lapis-lazuli, worth forty thousand dollars, and a vase 
and many other things worth piles of money. Sometimes pictures and 
heads are engraved on it, — and, mother," said Nellie, with a mischievous 
glance, "when you buy my pin, you must be sure to touch your tongue to 
the stone, for if it is real it will feel very cold. There is only one thing 
more about it," said Nellie, just stopping to take breath. " The nicest 
pieces of this stone are ground up very fine, and after a great deal of trou- 
ble a beautiful blue paint is made, called ultramarine. It is used in oil paint- 
ing, and never fades. But it costs so much money that all artists cannot 
afford to buy it, and somebody has invented an imitation which is said to be 
just as good. This can be sold for two dollars a pound, while the other costs 
fifty dollars an ounce." 

" Well done, Nellie ! " said her mother, " you have succeeded even better 
than I expected. There is only one thing of importance that you have 
omitted. Lapis-lazuli is much used in making mosaics and inlaid work, and 
the shining specks that are often seen in it are due to iron pyrites." 

u There," said Nellie, " I knew that, but it just slipped out of my mind 
when I wanted to remember everything." 

" I can easily overlook that omission, my child, and if I can find a brooch 
suitable and pretty it will be ready for your birthday, which is not very far 
distant" 

Every day, when Mrs. Hinton went out, she searched carefully until she 
found something that she liked. 

As Nellie's birthday has not come, and she has not seen her pretty gift, 
you may just take a peep. There it lies in a little velvet case lined with 
white satin. The polished stone of azure-blue is prettily set in a narrow 
band of rich yellow gold. 

Nellie will surely be delighted with its beauty, and value it always for her 
dear mother's sake. 

Mary H. Seymour. 



278 The Laves of the Pigeons. [May, 



THE LOVES OF THE PIGEONS. 

PIGEONS always lay two eggs, and these produce a male and a female, 
so they are mated from birth, and, could they remain so, they would be 
the happiest of winged beings. But, alas ! many accidents occur to disturb 
their joy and bring trouble and quarreling into their community, as Charley 
and May can testify. 

They thought they would buy a pair of young pigeons ; and Charley spent 
several half-holidays in making a large commodious house for them, and put- 
ting a ledge on the outside for them to stand upon. This he painted very 
carefully; but on learning that they often rubbed their beaks upon the 
painted wood, and had been known to die in consequence, he as carefully 
scraped the paint all off again. The little creatures were brought home in a 
basket, and for some time they remained in their house, unable to fly, and 
were carefully fed by the children with rye and split peas. 

At length Charley grew impatient, and thought he would give them some 
lessons ; so he brought them out, placed one on each shoulder, and then 
coaxed them to fly off Bob, a beautiful pigeon with a black spot on his back 
and tail, soon flew around the yard ; but his little lady fluttered from May's 
shoulder to her head, and then to her hand, unwilling to try a longer flight 
At length Bob coaxed her to the roof one day, and thence to the ground. 
It was a long flight for her, and she lay there panting, when suddenly a 
neighbor's dog rushed upon her, and before Charley could reach her she 
was dead. Poor Bob flew back and forth in wider and wider circles. He 
searched for her all day long from every roof in the neighborhood, and came 
home to his lonely house at night ; but early the next morning he flew oflj 
unable to remain alone where he had once been so happy. 

For a long time the children watched for his return ; but months passed, 
and, nearly a year after, they purchased another pair. These were pure 
white, and so young that they could not fly. This time the children decided 
that they would not teach them, but let them take their own time in learning. 
It seemed a long time, although it was not many days, before Bob put his 
head cautiously out, and, peering round, flew up to the roof, then down 
again, cooing, and coaxing Ladybird to try it too. She was very timid, but 
he stood by, encouraged and flew with her, and she too safely reached the 
roof. 

How happy they were ! From that day they almost lived out-of-doors, 
only going in to drink and sleep. Soon the water was taken from their 
house and placed in a large pan under a tree. They saw it, longed for it, 
but were a whole day deciding to try it At length Bob flew down, tasted, 
called his mate, and stood on the edge of the pan to protect her while she 
drank. Then the pretty creatures tasted the grass, and, finding it safe and 
pleasant to do so, often came down and walked around the grounds. Soon 
they commenced flying short distances, — Bob always starting first and com- 



1873J The Laves of the Pigeons. 279 

ing back for his Ladybird, — until each morning saw them starting forth for 
a long and joyous flight The little creatures were so pure, so graceful and 
winning in their ways, that they were a joy to the whole family. 

One morning they were missing. Late in the afternoon they returned, 
having spent the day in visiting. The next morning their visit was returned 
by a large white-and-black pigeon, which the children felt sure was their 
lost bird He spent a pleasant morning, — flying round and round with 
them to view the premises, — and then went home. The next morning he 
came again, bringing a mate with him ; but she soon went back and left 
him. But he decided to remain and win Ladybird for his own. All day 
long he chased poor Bob over the roofs, and away from his little mate ; then 
he would stop and coo and talk to her in a most enticing manner. One mo- 
ment the little coquette would listen and fly to him, pecking at Bob herself 
when he followed her ; then again she seemed to repent of her cruelty and 
flew to him lovingly, when Blacky would chase them both. At length, after 
a weary day, she yielded to his importunity, came over to him, kissed, cooed, 
and settled by him for the night They spent one very happy day together ; 
Blacky was loving and devoted, Ladybird coy and pretty, whilst poor Bob 
looked on disconsolate. 

Early next morning loud talking and scolding in the pigeon-house drew 
all eyes to the windows. And there, behold, a new pigeon, brown-and- 
white speckled ! He was large and pompous, and strutted round with a 
lordly air. Ladybird was evidently a belle, and the fame of her beauty was 
daily bringing new suitors. 

Speckle was a bird of quality. He evidently felt his own dignity and 
would not brook a rival. He at once entered the lists with Blacky, deter- 
mined to win or die. Poor Bob took this opportunity to try and coax Lady- 
bird back to himself, but Speckle soon put him down. Between Blacky and 
Speckle the fight was more equal It raged all day ; but it was soon evi- 
dent that Speckle was the stronger of the two, and at night he remained 
victor. Fickle little Ladybird, pleased with his prowess, crowned him with 
a kiss, and the happy pair retired together for the night 

Blacky returned next day and called his little mate, but she took no notice of 
him. Proud of her " conquering hero/' she remained loyal to him, and, though 
polite and friendly to the many callers she received, she kept close to the side 
of her lord, and seemed happiest when alone with him. He was wholly de- 
voted to her, — brought her straws for her nest, while she remained within 
weaving them together ; and at night he slept outside to guard the entrance, 
wisely judging that " the price of safety is eternal vigilance." Poor Bob nes- 
tled beside him, occasionally taking a peep at his little darling ; but as she 
invariably put out her head at such times and gave him a nip, he learned, 
after a time, to restrain himself. He is fast recovering his peace of mind, and 
as we are told Ladybird will probably have eleven sons and as many daugh- 
ters in the course of the year, it is very probable he may yet mate with one 
of them, and thus become son-in-law to his former wife. 

W. C. E. 



28o 



The Goat and the Swing. 



{May, 



THE GOAT AND THE SWING. 

A LITTLE story, with a moral 
For young folks who are prone to quarreL 
Old folks are wise, and do not need it, 
Of course ! they therefore will not read it 

A vicious goat, one day, had found 
His way into forbidden ground, 
When, coming to the garden-swing, 
He spied a most prodigious thing, — 
A ram, a monster, to his mind, 
With head before and head behind ! 

Its shape was odd, — no hoofs were seen, 
But without legs it stood between 
Two upright, lofty posts of oak, 
With forehead ready for a stroke. 

Though but a harmless ornament 
Carved on the seat, it seemed intent 
On barring the intruder's way ; 
While he, advancing, seemed to say, — 
" Who is this surly fellow here ? 
Two heads, no tail, — it's mighty queer! 
A most insulting countenance ! " 
With stamp of foot and angry glance 




I8/3J 



The Goat and the Swing. 



281 



He curbed his threatening neck and stood 
Before the passive thing of wood. 
"You winked as I was going by! 
You did not? Whatl tell me I lie? 




Take that ! " And at the swing he sprung : 
A sounding thump 1 It backward swung, 
And, set in motion by the blow, 
Swayed menacingly to and fro. 




282 The Goat and the Swing. [May, 

" Ha ! you will fight ? A quarrelsome chap, 
I knew you were ! You 11 get a rap ! 
I '11 crack your skull ! " A headlong jump : 
Another and a louder bump ! 

The swing, as if with kindling wrath, 

Came rushing back along the path. 

The goat, astonished, shook his head, 

Winked hard, turned round, grew mad, and said, — 

"Villain ! I 'U teach you who lam!" 

(Or seemed to say,) — " you rascal ram, 

To pick a fight with me, when I 

So quietly am passing by ! 

Your head or mine 1 " A thundering stroke 

The cracking horns met crashing oak I 




Then came a dull and muffled sound, 

And something rolled along the ground, 

Got up, looked sad, — appeared to say 

" Your head *s too hard ! " — and limped away 

Quite humbly, in a rumpled coat, — 

A dustier and a wiser goat ! 

J. T. Trowbridge. 



I873-] The Calico Paper. 283 



THE CALICO PAPER. 

« T 1 7HERE 'S the hand-bag ?" 

W "Here's the sun-umbrella I " 

" The baby 's swallowed the shawl-straps ! " 

" No, she has n't She 's sitting in the custard-pudding ! " 

" Here are the straps ! Bib 's hung himself to the entry-lamp with them. 
And here are your tips, mother. And don't forget the little gray shawl. 
O Alta ! where 's the lunch-box ? Did you put slices in between the mus- 
tard ? I mean — 

"Here's the coach this minute, and I can't find the key to the hat-box 
flif/where! Mari ! Altai Mar*/ DonU let the baby tumble down the 
steps till she gets her face washed ! " 

"Here, Bib, hold still, sir! Where's your jacket? Stop eating your 
neck-tie ! Alta ! we never thought of the camphene-burner." 

" Nor the condensed beef Bib, if you must stand on your head, don't do 
it on the boiled eggs. I'm afraid they weren't done very hard. Yes f 
here 's the waterproof and the rubbers — and — " 

" Tie mother's bonnet for her, do ! She '11 never get off O, he says he 's 
late to the train already ! Good by, mother ! " 

" Good by — write — Bib — Baby — Alta — Your father — Bag — Purse 
— up stairs — No, it is n't — Be — good — girls — " 

In a shower of forever uncompleted sentences mother rolled off The 
tortured air quivered and sank into grateful silence. The frantic coachman 
lashed his horses up the hill, and Bib tumbled out of the window. 

Alta and I stayed only to see him picked' up and tumbled in again, and 
then came slowly into the house and sat down and drew the longest breath 
we 'd drawn since school was out 

" I do not regard," said Alta, after a prolonged silence, in which she had 
sat fanning her blazing cheeks with a waste-paper basket, and pensively 
considering the entry-lamp, to which two pairs of forgotten shawl-straps, 
a rubber boot, the baby's mosquito-netting, and a few other indispensables 
to the journey, yet hung as tender souvenirs of the inventive abilities of 
Bib, — " I do not regard the Franco-Prussian war as an undertaking to be 
compared with the getting off of a woman and two children to the cars. 
An undertaking ? It was an episode ; an incident ; a diversion. Let Bis- 
marck try it, that 's all I have to say." 

" At least, we have two weeks to recover in," said I. " That is something ; 
' Do not let your blessings get mouldy,' Mr. Beecher would say." 

" I don't know what Mr. Beecher would say," persisted Alta, determined 
to have it out with her idea, " if he had it to do." 

" But two weeks to rest, all alone in this house ! " For father did n't 
count ; he is so still ; any moonbeam makes as little fuss in a house, — and 
both are off all day. As for Emma Elizabeth, she takes the time when 



284 The Calico Paper. {May, 

mother is gone to visit her relations, and speak in meeting, and burn the 
steak, and have hash every day, and is so seldom in the way at all that she 
does not interfere in the least with the dusting ; and manifests no intention 
of taking any responsibility as to the chamber-work or lamp-trimming. 

" Two long, blessed weeks ! " said Alta, when we drew breath again at 
night ; it had taken all day to " pick up " after the departed travellers ; and 
the thermometer stood at 96 in the shade of the great elm in the garden. 

" What shall we do with ourselves ? Two weeks ! two weeks t Why, 
Man, when have we had two weeks to ourselves before ? " 

" Not since Bib was born, I 'm sure." And I 'm sure, indeed, we hadn't 

And yet I would n't have you think we did n't miss mother, for all that 
We thought at first we should n't, I admit It was so like paradise not to 
hear the baby cry, and not to have to black Bib's boots, and even not to 
have to do the dishes in the proper time, directly after breakfast, but to let 
them lie over all the next day if we wanted to, and nobody to tell us how 
terrible it was ! 

But when we went to bed it began to be a little lonely ; and when we got 
up the next day, it began to be a little more so. 

" Do you wish they were home again ? " asked I. 

" Not yet," said Alta, promptly. " I 'd like to see them well enough, 
though. What shall we do, Mari ? " 

What should we do ? It was n't as if we very often had the time to 
ask ourselves that question. It had only been How to do it ? with us girls, 
for the most part, since we could remember. And now, when we had two 
weeks in which we had nobody but ourselves to please, there were such 
thousands of ways of being pleased ! 

" Millions J " sighed Alta. " I have counted on making a fern-book for the 
next homoeopathic fair (I was so behindhand with the last one, and cockled 
up all my sumach). I have set my heart on feather-embroidering all my 
old plaited waists. I have promised Emma Elizabeth that I 'd pick all the 
corn and tomatoes. I told father I 'd clear up the chaise-house. The 
horse has got to be shod. I must have the buggy washered. I meant to 
paint the garden-fence, and if I don't make up some calico wrappers before 
long, I shall have to tie myself into a pillow-case; and if I don't read 
Froude's History, and begin Grote, and finish The Excursion, I shall become 
a raving imbecile before winter. Besides, — well, no, I believe that 's all" 

Perhaps it was from there being so many things to do that it was harder 
to know where to begin than not to do at all ; or, perhaps, because we were 
half sad to have been half glad that mother was gone ; but at all events, 
when Alta said the next morning, " I know another thing I mean to do," 
and I asked, "What now?" and she said, "We'll paper mother's room 
before she comes back. We '11 do it pretty soon. On the whole, we '11 do 
it to-morrow. No we won't, we '11 do it to-day, Mari," it seemed to us both 
at once the most delightful thing to do in all the world, and so much the 
most important, that we ran in in our wrappers as soon as we heard father 
go down, to see about it 



I873-] Tk* Calico Paper. 285 

" It 's such an ugly paper," said Alta, " I always thought it accounted for 
the babies in our family having so much colic. Any baby of good taste 
would cry to lie and look at it for two years." 

It was the ugliest paper ! First, there was green sky ; then came a blue 
rose-bush as tall as a poplar-tree ; a pink river ran under it, with a lavender 
bridge ; there was a yellow woman on the bridge, and the greenest man fish- 
ing in a black boat which was sailing, stern-foremost, into a wreath of pota- 
to-blossoms and tiger-lilies. The whole was netted in at intervals with a 
brown appearance, which Alta and I had grown up in the belief was spi- 
ders, but which mother said was either a bat, or a man on the gallows ; 
father, on the contrary, stoutly maintained that it was gridirons. 

At this cheerful tapestry Alta and I gazed with a sudden vivacity not 
unmixed with despair. 

" She never would paper it herself," said Alta, " never. But I wish we 'd 
ever papered anything but the tool-house." 

We girls do a great many things at our house. It is partly because there 
is n't much money ; but it 's more because there are n't any boys. That 
partly makes up, in my mind, for Bib's being so near the baby, and always 
choosing vacations to have mumps and measles in. If there had been a big 
brother in the family, I don't suppose we should any more have thought we 
could paper a room than most of the girls we know. 

It has always been a notion of ours — more Alta's, I think, than mine — to 
do some such little thing round home when anybody is off on a visit, for a 
surprise when he comes back. Once we painted the front entry for father 
in that way, — pearl tint and oak-staining ; it 's really pretty. Another time 
we bought and put down a strip of booking, where Bib had worn the front 
stair-carpet through. Then there were the curtains we hung at the parlor- 
windows, out of two old muslin dresses and a little chintz ; they 've lasted 
till now. 

Alta is assistant pupil, and I give music-lessons to the little Putty girls on 
Saturdays : so we always have a little money of our own, when any such 
thing is going on. 

But to paper a room, — - a live, respectable room 1 It looked appalling at 
first 

" What if we should spoil it ? Twelve by fifteen, eight-foot post" Alta 
flitted about in her white wrapper, with her little foot measure. " Say eleven 
rolls, Mari ? Now, thirty cents a roll will get a lovely pattern, if you only 
think so — eleven times thirty — three dollars and thirty cents. A paperer 
would cost two dollars and a half; if he did n't three. But for three dollars 
and thirty cents, Mari ! Turn father into the spare room, you see. Don't 
you remember how glib the newspapers went on the tool-house ? I never 
yet saw the thing I could n't do, if I would, Mari 1 We '11 go over to 
Henry Haspy's this living morning." 

When Alta has made up her mind to do a thing, she never stops to think 
again whether she can do it or not ; so over to Henry Haspy's we went, as 
soon as the dishes were over. Emma Elizabeth, to be sure, raised grave 



286 The Calico Paper. [May, 

objections to our leaving the front hall unswept and the currants for her to 
stem ; in fact, we escaped only on the ground of being in imperative need 
of cheese to eat with the apple-pies, and were punished for our duplicity by 
finding a cold boiled-rice dessert on our return. 

Henry Haspy keeps the post-office in our town, and the store. He keeps 
calico and raisins and butter and tape and needles and molasses and wall- 
paper and perfumery and hooks and eyes ; and if there is anything which 
Henry Haspy does n't keep, he is sure to have something which will 
answer your purpose just as welL Indeed, so ingenious is Henry Haspy in 
his exercise of this pliant disposition, so accommodating to find in a store- 
keeper, that when Alta asked him for cheese, he said No, he had n't any 
cheese in to-day ; but he had some tallow-candles. Alta thanked him, and 
said she thought she would rather see his wall-papering. Henry Haspy had 
no sooner rolled out his paper-stands and whisked over his patterns, than 
we cried in one united breath : " O Alta ! " " O Mari ! " \ 

How Henry Haspy ever happened on it, / don't know ; but it was the 
loveliest thing i Among a crowd of ninepenny dots, and shilling diamonds, 
and blue and yellow apples, and baskets of hollyhocks and imitation gilding, 
and numerous varieties of wall-paper art, such as only Henry Haspy could 
have selected, there lay a soft, soft, soft, gray stripe ; the softest thing you 
can think of; all the shades, from the lining of a dove's breast to the lining 
of a thunder-cloud, and not a defined edge to them all ; they melted into 
each other, as grays melt in skies and water and on hills, so that where one 
ends and the other begins you cannot tell ; in the shining, silver centre of 
the pattern ran the only line in the whole, — a fine, fearless finish of the 
color of cranberries in the sun. 

" The gray carpet ! " said Alta. 

" The cranberry table-cloth 1 " said I. 

"Thirty-seven and a half cents," said Henry Haspy. 

Who would think of seven and a half cents, in the face of such a "hap- 
pening " as that ? Alta and I bought eleven rolls of the gray-and-cranberry 
stripe, and rode triumphantly home. Even our cold rice did not darken 
our horizon that happy morning. 

But, after all, the paper didn't go up that day ; nor the next ; in fact, it 
was not till just before mother came home that it was fairly on. I don't 
remember all the reasons ; but I know that father was taken sick that night 
and was too sick to be turned out of the room for several days ; and then 
Uncle Belshazzar appeared with a cousin or two, to make a visit ; and the 
agent for Western seminaries stayed at our house, and Emma Elizabeth was 
called to the dying-beds of some half-dozen nieces, and things ran together 
as things always do run together with Alta and me. 

But at last the paper went up. Alta and I were happy. 

It took us three days and a quarter to get it up, but we were happy. It 
gave us the headache and the back-ache ; and Alta took pleurisy from the 
open window, and I tipped over the steps and lamed my ankle, and the 
paste spilled down the register, and a friend of Alta's (he 's in a lawyer's 



1873.] The Calico Paper. 287 

office down town) came to see us in the midst of it, and Emma Elizabeth 
asked him right up, where we stood in our old, unbelted wrappers, dripping 
with paste, and scarlet with hurry, — Alta on the steps, and I on the cut- 
ting-table ; but still Alta and I were happy. 

Nobody knows, who has not been a paperer, what a neat, brisk, clean, 
pleasant business it is. I often tell Alta we will set up for ourselves in it 
some time, when mother is dead, and? Bib is old enough to black his own 
boots, and women vote, and law-students feel differently about what their 
wives shall do. 

To be sure, there is the paste ; but you know it 's only flour and water, 
if you will stop to think so. And to see the blank, spotty, ugly wall grow 
grand and fresh under your fingers quite makes up for the splash and splut- 
ter and the sweeping out It 's next to frescoing, I think. I like to do a 
thing in which you feel that you are making something over into something 
better. 

The gray shades' went up like the mists for Alta and me ; there was not 
a wrinkle in the clean little cranberry line ; and dove's breasts and thunder- 
clouds " were glad together," (as Miss Ingelow has it) all over mother's lit- 
tle low room at last She was coming in the morning train ; we were none 
too soon. 

"Now? said Alta, "well sweep out, and look at it; then we'll put 
things to rights. Don't let 's look at it till we 've swept out" 

" I suppose it is sweeping — and — being a little dizzy, that makes — " 

" Makes what ? " asked Alta, leaning on her broom. " I told you not to 
look. I don't see anything but a little crookedness about the walls, which 
comes from being dizzy, as you say." 

"The cranberry line doesn't seem exactly — straight — while one is 
sweeping and whirling about," said I. " It is funny, is n't it ? Over there 
in the corner it seems to move in a most peculiar way." 

" I '11 move you in a most peculiar way," said Alta, decidedly, " if you find 
any crooks in this paper. It is put on as smooth as a skating-park. Shut 
your eyes till we get through, if you can't see straighter than this." 

I did shut my eyes in very despair, while we were moving in the bed and all 
the things. I thought I must be going to have an attack of apoplexy, there 
was such a remarkable look about that papering ! I turned to the right, to 
the left ; I sat down ; I stood up ; I went out ; I came in. Still something 
was wrong with the cranberry line. What was it ? Where was it? How 
did it happen ? What did it mean ? 

With a little help from Emma Elizabeth (who occupied the time in in- 
forming us that she was going to take an evening out, and might as well 
go before supper ; she 'd set the table, and we could toast up our father's 
bread and do the rest) we had the room all ready at last 

The gray carpet was faultless of a shred ; the gray-tinted paint was spot 
lessly clean ; the cranberry table-cloth was on the table ; the pictures were 
hung; the sun came in; Alta tied the curtains with cranberry-colored 
ribbons, and laid upon the washstand some little gray-and-cranberry mats 



288 The Calico Paper. [May, 

we 'd made. We had re-covered the pin-cushion too, with gray spatter- 
work (oak-leaves and acorns) on cranberry silk. 

Of course, I Ve seen a great many grander rooms, but I never saw any 
room in my life which looked so prettily to me as that room did for about 
five minutes after it was all in order, and Alta and I had stepped out into 
the hall to take it in. 

" It looks like an October morning," said Alta. 

" It makes me think of some of Moore's poems," said I. 

" It 's very pretty," said Emma Elizabeth, peering through the banisters. 
" Laws ! I had a calico dress just like it once, for all the world 1 Do ye 
think ye 've put it on straight ? " 

At this ominous question Alta and I exchanged glances. 

We went back into the room. The paper was put on straight ; we ran 
our fingers over it ; not a wrinkle ; no experienced paperer could have found 
fault ; but Emma Elizabeth was right, it did n't look straight 

The cranberry-line danced before our eyes. We went to this corner, and 
that ; out and in and out again ; we sat on the window-sill ; we sat on the 
banisters ; we sat upon the floor ; upon the book-case ; if we 'd been boys, 
we should have stood on our heads to view that cranberry-line. 

There was no mistake about it ; it waved before our eyes like a new- 
mown lawn. 

" We are tired," said Alta ; " we '11 come in again by and by." 

By and by we went in once more ; and by and by again. 

Alas and alas for the beautiful cranberry line ! Did I say like a new- 
mown lawn ? Like a field of wheat before the breeze, like a loose carpet on 
a windy day, like the waves of a rising sea, like the billows of a furious 
storm. Turn whithersoever we would, our beautiful striped paper swam, 
bubbled, rippled, rolled before our eyes. Alta turned pale. I think my 
complexion must have changed to a delicate green. 

" The wall is uneven," said Alta, with horrible calmness. " I see now ; 
the house is old, Man, and sunken ; the wall tips and sags ; the plaster- 
ing bulges in and out. Anything but a stripe would have been lovely, but a 
stripe will go on forever — ever, — go on, go on, forever ! " Alta tried to 
sing ; but she more nearly cried. 

" Perhaps it won't always squirm," said I, as we went out and closed the 
door. 

" It will always squirm," said Alta, in a hollow voice. " We can only 
wait for mother now. We can see what she says. But it will always 
squirm." 

Punctually from the morning train the coach rolled up to the door, to the 
music of the baby's most familiar and most expressive soprano scream ; 
Bib, the bags, the lunch-box, the shawl-straps and the umbrella bundled 
out and resumed their characteristic commotion in our quiet midst ; mother 
kissed us twice apiece, gave Alta her bonnet and me the baby, and went up 
stairs to put away her things. 

Alta and I heard her from below : " Why, girls 1 Why, you girls I " And 



1873] Tk$ CWto -ft*/** 289 

for one delusive moment our hearts beat fast with a pleasure which, I fancy, 
only successful paper-hangers can ever experience. 

" It's as pretty as a picture," said mother, coming down. "I 'm sure you 
are the best girls ! Such a surprise, too ! There 's only one little thing I 
noticed, — a wrinkle in the cranberry-line, Alta, over behind the washstand." 

" Ah ? " said Alta, faintly. 

" It can't be," said I, with a ghastly hypocrisy. 

" Well, perhaps not," said mother ; " but I certainly thought the paper 
seemed to wriggle, somehow. It gave me a dizzy feeling, after being in the 
cars. No doubt I shall get over it soon. It 's a little funny, — did you think 
of it ? Emma Elizabeth had a calico dress just of that pattern once. It 's 
quite a coincidence. But you 're the dearest girls in the world ! " 

In the gray of the early dawn next day, the dearest girls in the world were 
waked by a cry in which the petulance of bewilderment mingled with the 
hollo wness of despair. 

" Alta ! Girls ! Do come here and see to this calico paper ! What is 
the matter with it ? " We rushed to the rescue. Mother lay groaning in 
agony on the bed. Had we poisoned her ? Alta went white to the lips. 
" Oh ! " groaned mother ; " is there arsenic in it ? Why, no, there can't be. 
Then I 've got delirium tremens, or a sick-headache. It writhes like a 
snake ! The wall goes in and out I can't hold my head up. If you don't 
move me into the front room, I shall die ! Hang up some brown paper 
bags, or some ' Children at Home,' — an ' Independent' or two, — anything. 
All night I 've seen Emma Elizabeth on the walls trying to dress up a boa- 
constrictor in that dress of hers ! O girls / " 

Alas and alas ! for doves' breasts and thunder-clouds ; for morning mists 
and sailing fogs and cranberries in the sun ! 

Alta and I locked ourselves in with our " calico paper," as soon as mother 
was sleeping off her headache in the spare room. What to do next ? We 
were penniless and desperate. Here, however, was the room on our hands. 
Something must be done. Delay was dangerous to our sanity. 

That very noon, to crown our mortification, what must Emma Elizabeth 
do, but fish out her old dress from some rag-bag or other where it had lain 
as a fossil for a season, and put it on ? Majestically upon her lank figure, 
the faded facsimile of our beautiful paper was now sailing about the house. 

This last touch was too much. It did not break the camel's back ; it only 
aroused the camel's intellect to a fierce and unparalleled ingenuity. 

** Man," said Alta, solemnly, " we must have this room repapered before 
dark to-night" 

"Very well, Alta. Shall we beg?" 

" No." 

"Steal?" 

" No." 

"Very well, Alta. Order a velvet-and-gilt tapestry, from the King of the 
Witches?" 

" Orp*er something plain from Henry Haspy's. I think, if you will offer to 

vol. dc — no. v. 19 



290 The Second Matfs Twister. [May, 

tend store for him for three days (and let him off to the cattle-show), I will 
make hay for Mr. Putty for a week. That would bring us enough, and 
something over for peanuts. Mr. Putty asked me the other day to help 
him with his hay ; of course, he had n't an idea I 'd do it ; but I kept it in 
mind, — I'd just as lief. You don't mind tending store a couple of days ? " 

" N-not very much." 

"Well, then!" 

" Well, then ! " 

" We '11 go and get the paper this minute, and stop at Mr. Putty's on 
the way home. Before dark we '11 be all right, or I '11 cut my own acquaint- 
ance ! " 

It is the truth that before dark we had bargained with Mr. Haspy, bar- 
gained with Mr. Putty, brought home a pale, pretty, simple green paper, as 
indefinite as a tint and far more durable, and with it had covered with our 
own hands the calico paper forever from mortal vision. 

The furniture was in, the cranberry cloth, ribbons, mats, and fixings, in 
their places ; we added a green thread mat from our own room, and Alta's 
great green ivy, six yards long, to hang against the pallid undertone of the 
walls, — and mother, having cured her headache with a pellet of Nux, slept 
in her own room that night the sleep of the just 

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 



THE SECOND MATE'S TWISTER. 
BY UNCLE BLUE JACKET. 

ONE night during the winter we were having a gale of wind from the 
northeast with snow ; I was seated before the fire in my room, listen- 
ing to the wind as it went howling around the corners of the house, and 
thinking 

V Of the hearts chilled through with watching, 
The eyes that wearily blink 
Through the blinding gale and snowdrift, 
For the Lights of Neverstnk I " 

when my three nephews, home from school for the Christmas holidays, 
came clattering through the hall, and, bursting into my room, broke out 
with, " Ain't you glad you 're not at sea to-night, uncle ? Just hear it blow. 
It 's a bully night for a story ; tell us one, won't you ? " 

" You youngsters think I 'm as full of yarns as an old foretopman. What 
can I tell you about ? I 've spun you all my yarns." 

" O no, you have n't ; tell us about anything you think of ; fire, or wrecks, 
or islands, or anything about ships." 

I 've "knocked off" going to sea (since I left one of my legs down in 



1 8730 The Second Mat/s Twister. 291 

Mobile Bay) and haven't much to do but to think over my voyages and 
spin yarns about them ; so as the lads seated themselves on the rug before 
the fire, I lighted a cigar, and spun them this " twister." 

44 Some years ago I was second mate of a handsome little clipper ship 
called the ' White Swallow/ then loading a general cargo in New York, 
bound for San Francisco. It was in the days before the Pacific Railroad, 
when most of the freight for California went ' around the Horn,' and there 
were always several magnificent ships on the berth for 'Frisco to be found 
along South Street, New York, so it was not an unusual thing that, when we 
sailed, we did so in company with two ships of rival lines. The * White 
Swallow ' was a new ship, having made but one voyage, to China and home, 
during which she wasn't noted for any unusual speed. The captain and 
chief mate had been in her on her first voyage, and theysaid on the passage 
out she was badly loaded, and they couldn't carry sail on her as they 
wished ; homeward bound there was no opportunity, as the passage, con- 
suming one hundred and twenty days, was a succession of light winds and 
calms. For this passage, Captain Adams and the mate had looked out for 
the stowing of the cargo, and, when we sailed, the ship was in fine trim, with 
the exception of being a little too deep, perhaps. We made the run to San 
Francisco in one hundred and one days, beating the other two ships ten and 
thirteen days. I was quite young then, not yet twenty, but I had been at 
sea since I was twelve, and I thought I had seen sail carried about as long 
as canvas and spars would stand ; but by the big boot that hangs in Chat- 
ham Street ! the dimity was swung to that ship till her lee rail would be a 
stranger to us for days on a stretch ; and we never thought of coming on 
deck without our oil-skin coats, for she threw spray in perfect showers her 
entire length. 

" When the watch on deck were not making or taking in sail, or bracing 
yards, every man who could use a palm and needle was mending sails, 
for about every watch we split some of our canvas. Notwithstanding the 
way we carried sail, we lost but two spars during the passage, — a main- 
royal yard and a topmast stun'-sail boom. 

"After our arrival at San Francisco, crowds of people, mostly merchants 
and .other shippers, came down on Vallego Street wharf to see the ship that 
had made the fastest passage of the year ; and, before our cargo was en- 
tirely discharged, the ship was chartered to load hides, tallow, old iron, and 
rags for Liverpool. 

" Now on the berth for the same port was an Aberdeen clipper — 

" What kind of a clipper is that, uncle ?" 

44 Clippers built at Aberdeen, in Scotland : they are noted for fast sailing, 
as ours built at Mystic in Connecticut, and Newburyport in Massachu- 
setts, are. The Scotch ship was about twelve hundred tons' burden, built 
of iron, and as handsome as a yacht. She was called the ' Sea Horse,' and 
had made some fine passages from China to London. She was loading 
wheat, and about half her cargo was on board when we commenced taking 
in our old iron, hides, tallow, and rags. One evening I was seated in the 



292 The Second Maids Twister. [May, 

reading-room of tbe What Cheer House, and near me sat a sailor-like look- 
ing man of forty or more years, enjoying a cigar, when a gentleman came up 
to him, and said, ' Good evening, Captain Daly ; how goes on the loading ?' 

" * O, so-so ; we 'U get off in a fortnight, I hope.' 

" ' Well, we intend to have the " White Swallow " full in two weeks.' 

" ' I hope you may. I should like to beat that ship to Liverpool, and will, 
too, if she don't have more than three days' start of me.' 

" I made up my mind to tell Captain Adams what I had accidentally 
heard, and then, if he wanted a race, here was his chance. Our captain was 
a quiet, rather reserved man, troubling his officers but little with any con- 
versation besides that which related to the sailing of the ship. He was 
young, not more than thirty, rather fine-looking, and a sailor-man every 
inch of him. The •morning after overhearing what the captain of the ' Sea 
Horse ' had said, I remarked to our skipper, while at the breakfast-table, 
* The " Sea Horse " will be ready for sea about the time we are, sir.' 

" 'Yes, I hope so.' 

" ( That 's what her captain hopes ; he says, if we don't get more than 
three days' start of him, he will let our consignees in Liverpool know we 're 
coming.' 

" ' How did you learn that ? ' 

" ' I heard him tell a gentleman so last night in the What Cheer House.' 

" ' Confound the fellow's impudence 1 ' 

" Two or three days after, a clerk in our consignees' office told me our 
captain and the captain of the ' Sea Horse ' had met, and, after chaffing one 
another in a friendly manner, had finally each deposited five hundred dollars 
with our consignees, the captain of the ship first in dock at Liverpool to 
draw on them at sight for the whole amount, — a thousand dollars. 

"The report of an intended race, from San Francisco to Liverpool, 
between an American and a Scotch clipper, soon got spread about the city, 
and the amount of money staked on the result must have had a thousand 
added to it by every person who repeated the report, for it soon became 
fabulous as regards the dollars. 

" Both ships were finally ready for sea, and hauled out from the wharves 
to be taken in tow by the tugs. A great many people assembled to see us 
off, and when we were fairly on our way out of the harbor, both ships were 
greeted by cheers and steam-whistles. The tugs cast us off when off the 
Farallones, and under a cloud of canvas, with a fair wind, we started on our 
long race. We parted company the first night out, and you may be sure 
there was n't much rest for officers or men on board either ship, — at all 
events, there was n't on board the ' White Swallow.' Captain Adams car- 
ried sail very hard night and day, and spent most of his time on deck ; not 
that he was afraid the mate or myself would shorten sail before it was 
necessary, for if we were not so much interested in beating the ' Sea Horse ' 
as he was, we wanted to do it for the honor of the ship and the flag. 

" I used to stand on deck and watch the little ship dive into the seas, and 
hold my breath as the drenching showers of spray came flying over the 



1873.] Thi Second Mat is Twister. 293 

weather-rail ; then, as soon as the salt water was out of my eyes, cast an 
anxious look aloft to see if anything had started It was fun to hear the 
crockery go tumbling about the steward's pantry, and Captain Adams's 
cheery ' There goes another hole in my five hundred dollars,' as some grand 
smash occurred. 

" We went tearing along with strong breezes and fair, never heeding such 
small accidents as a split sail or a sprung yard or two only as they delayed 
us in replacing them. I never saw a crew in better spirits than ours ; no 
amount of work in their watch on deck or below made them growl, and at 
the first call to make or reduce sail they would come tumbling out of the 
fo'castle, laughing, and making such remarks as ' The " Sea Horse " may be 
a goer, but she can'tyfy, like the " White Swallow." ' 

" One morning, when we were in latitude about twenty degrees south, I 
had the morning watch. The night had been fine, with a strong breeze, and 
we were going free under a main royal and topmast stun'-sail ; but after I 
had been on deck about half an hour I noticed the wind got puffy, and each 
succeeding puff stronger. I had a hand by the main royal halyards, and 
made up my mind that, if I did n't take that sail off her, it would take itself 
off Along came another puff, and I sung out, ' Let go main-royal halyards,' 
and started for the weather-brace just as the captain came on deck. 

" * Good morning, Mr. Blue Jacket ; getting puffy, is it ? ' 

" * Yes, sir ; going to have more than we want, I reckon. Shall I furl 
that royal, sir ? ' 

" 4 Yes, I think you 'd better.' 

" • Jump up there, two of you boys, and furl that main royal.' 

"Away aloft went the two apprentice-boys belonging to my watch, and I 
noticed that, after getting on the yard, one looked to windward and then 
seemed to say something to the other, then they grabbed up the sail, passed 
the yard-arm gaskets, and while one was making fast the bunt gasket the 
other chap stood up on the yard, with one arm around the mast, looking to 
windward ; presently he sung out, * Sail ho 1 ' 

"'Where away?' 

" * On the weather quarter, sir.' 

" * Can you make her out ? ' 

" Just then Captain Adams called out, l Point to it, my lad.' The moment 
the boy reported a sail, the captain, thinking it the ' Sea Horse,' had gone 
below to his room for his glass. After the boy had pointed in the direction 
of the stranger, he swung himself on to the main-royal backstay and came 
on deck by the run, rushed up to me with a frightened look, and in a hoarse 
whisper said, « It 's a wreck, sir, with a signal of distress flying.' 

" I turned to report what the boy said to the captain, and found him 
steadying his glass against the mizzen- topmast backstay ; without taking 
his eye from the glass, he said, ' Call all hands, Mr. Blue Jacket ! in stun'- 
sail, mizzen-to'-gallant-sail, and flying-jib, and single reef the topsails; 
we 11 beat up to those poor fellows.' 

" Out tumbled the watch below, and as soon as they beard there was a 



294 The Second Mat is Twister. [May, 

wreck to windward, I think each man did three men's work. When it was 
first discovered we were going eleven knots, and must have ran two or 
three miles before we got sail off the ship and hauled our wind. I went 
aloft with a glass, and when I got on the main-topsail yard I saw to 
windward, about eight miles distant, a large ship, dismasted, and apparently 
water-logged On a spar of some kind was a signal flying, that had the 
appearance of being part of some light sail ; and on the poop could be 
seen what I took for a group of people, huddled about the stump of 
the mizzen-mast As soon as we hauled on the wind we got the full 
force of the breeze, which had increased to half a gale, but, if we carried 
sail before, you may be certain we did n't take in any now that we thought 
stood the least chance of hanging on. As the ship careened to the breeze 
she trembled like a frightened thing, but went flying through the water, 
deluging her decks, and throwing spray as high as the weather-leech of her 
topsails. The wreck was coming toward us with every heave of the sea, 
and, when we had made two tacks, we could make out six people on top of 
her cabin, who did n't seem to notice us particularly. 

" After working to windward of the hulk we lay to, while one of our quar- 
ter-boats was lowered, and myself and a crew of six men pulled off to the 
wreck. When quite close to the dismantled ship I noticed her name, 
' Cherub of Boston,' as her stern rose on a sea. On getting alongside, we 
found her main deck nearly level with the sea, the only dry spot being the 
top of the cabin, where the people were assembled. 

" I walked aft, and found five men and a woman near the stump of the miz- 
zen-mast, and all so exhausted as to be entirely helpless. I never saw such 
an expression of thankfulness in any being's eyes as came into those of that 
poor, weak woman as I lifted her in my arms and carried her to our boat, 
where I laid her in the stern sheets, and covered her with a coat Then, 
taking four of my boat's crew, we went back for the five men, and got them 
into the boat After that we went into the cabin of the * Cherub ' to try 
and find some of the lady's clothes, for we had nothing on board the 
4 White Swallow ' to dress her in but a man's rig. In a state-room on the 
port side of the cabin we found a large trunk containing women's wearing 
apparel, and from the captain's room we took the chronometer, barometer, 
charts, and a quantity of clothing. These were placed in the boat, while 
two of us took down the spar from which the signal of distress was flying, 
after which the boat was manned, and we pulled away for our ship. After 
getting alongside the * White Swallow,' the boat was hooked on to the 
davits with the rescued people in, and so hoisted, because the sufferers 
were too much exhausted to climb up the ship's side on a ladder. They 
were carried to the cabin, and their clothes removed ; then they were 
wrapped in blankets ; and, after wine-and- water had been given them in small 
quantities, they were snugly stowed away in state-room berths, where they 
fell almost instantly into a sound sleep. 

" When the people from the wreck had been got on board, the * White 
Swallow ' was put upon her course, and went reeling off her eleven knots an 



1 873] The Second MatSs Twister. 295 

hoar after her detention of almost four hours. In two days the rescued peo- 
ple had recovered sufficient strength to walk about a little and be much in- 
terested in the time for meals to be served, and at the dinner-table the 
captain of the lost ' Cherub ' told his story. His ship was bound from 
Honolulu to New Bedford, laden with oil and whalebone. When eight 
days out she had been dismasted in a gale, and became so strained that the 
pumps had to be kept going constantly, which, together with the loss by 
salt water of all but a small amount of provisions, so exhausted the crew, 
that, out of twenty-six people who left Honolulu in the ship, all but six had 
died from exposure, hunger, and thirst combined. The lady was the daugh- 
ter of a merchant in Honolulu, going to ' the States ' to visit her father's 
relatives. They had been on the wreck twenty-seven days, drifting help- 
lessly about, when we picked them up. 

" Our fine fortune in fair winds continued, and we went booming around 
Cape Horn in terribly cold weather, up through the southeast trades, across 
'the line' in the Atlantic, through the northeast trades up St George's 
Channel, and into dock at Liverpool on the one hundredth day after leaving 
San Francisco. The ' Sea Horse ' had not yet arrived, and as day after day 
passed, and still she did not come, we began to lose all interest in a ship 
we had beaten so badly. After we had been three weeks in Liverpool, one 
morning the papers reported the arrival of a steamer from Fayal, and 
'among the passengers were the officers and crew of the ship "Sea 
Horse," wrecked on Flores, one of the Western Islands.' From the news- 
paper accounts, it seemed the * Sea Horse ' had experienced a continuation 
of thick weather after losing the northeast trades, and consequently the 
ship had been navigated by dead-reckoning. Judging themselves clear of 
the Western Islands, the ship had been kept away two or three points, and 
brought up ashore, about midnight, with a southwesterly gale blowing, on 
Flores. All hands had been saved excepting Captain Daly, who was 
drowned by the capsizing of a boat in which himself and thirteen others 
were leaving the wreck at daylight on the morning after the ' Sea Horse ' 
had gone ashore. 

" The survivors were sent to Fayal, and from there the British Consul 
sent them to Liverpool by steamer. We on board the 'White Swallow* 
learned that, after Captain Adams heard of the loss of the ' Sea Horse ' and 
her captain, he got the draft for the money bet on the race cashed, carried 
the thousand dollars to the owners of the lost ship, and had them invest 
the money for the benefit of the widow of Captain Daly. 

"The people whom we rescued from the wreck left the ' White Swallow* 
in Liverpool. The captain of the lost ' Cherub ' and the young lady took 
a steamer for New York, but I never knew what became of the four men. 

" There, boys," said I, '* that *s the end of that twister ; you don't often 
have two wrecks in one night. Now, vamose this ranch." 

" All right ! " cried the youngsters, in chorus ; " and good night, Mr. Blue 
Jacket" 

M. W. McEutee. 



296 Pandora. [May, 



PANDORA. 
A MYTHOLOGICAL STORY. 

PROMETHEUS, the haughty Titan, grandson of Heaven and Earth, 
brother to Atlas, the Sky-bearer, and cousin to Jupiter, King of Gods 
and Men, sat in his house, silent and sullen ; for he had troubled the gods, 
and the jealousy of Jove plotted against him. 

Prometheus had looked upon the race of men, and behold ! they were all 
grovelling and base, though made in the likeness of the immortal gods. 
Then the soul of the Titan was stirred within him, and he snatched living 
coals from heaven and fired the dull, cold hearts of men, so that they saw 
visions, and dreamed dreams, and yearned and prophesied and disputed, and 
asked the gods hard questions. 

Jupiter was angry at this ; and, summoning Vulcan, the divine inventor 
and artificer, he said to him, " Master, straightway take clay, and knead it, 
and fashion me a subtile creature, graceful and young ; take of my blue sky 
to form its eyes, and spin its hair from the golden sunlights, and carve its 
lips from daintiest coral, and mould its brow of purest lilies, its cheeks of 
blushing roses ; and, when it is made, lead it hither." 

And Vulcan, the celestial inventor, he that reared the brazen houses of the 
gods, and built their ivory chariots, and forged their armor and their arms, 
and shod their steeds with brass, took clay and kneaded it, and moulded 
thence a creature of marvellous charm ; and in its eyes of sky he lighted 
tiny fires that were like will-o'-the-wisp, and he tuned its lips to accents 
that were like yEolian music ; and he led it to Minerva, that it might re- 
ceive subtile knowledge of all female arts, and to Venus, that she might be- 
stow upon it beauty, and to Mercury, that he might hide under all these a 
prying mind and a meddlesome disposition. So Vulcan presented it to Jupiter, 
and Jupiter, having approved it, smiling maliciously, named the god-made 
damsel Pandora (that is All-Gift), and commanded Mercury to conduct her 
to the house of Prometheus, — Jove's gift to the proud Titan. 

Now Prometheus signifies "Forethought," and this Forethought was 
shrewd and wary ; but he dwelt with his brother Epimetheus^ whose name 
is " Afterthought," and this Afterthought was impulsive and rash. Prome- 
theus, considering his brother's imprudence, had put him on his guard 
against the arts of Jove. But when Mercury came, bringing the beauti- 
ful gift, Forethought was from home, for Jove had planned it so ; and 
Afterthought, bewildered by the charms of Pandora, and forgetful of his 
brother's warning, accepted her, entertained her, wooed her, took her to 
wife ; and Pandora laughed in her pretty, foolish giddiness, like a peal of 
fairy bells. 

Then Mercury, who had bestowed upon her the prying mind and the 
spirit of meddling, tickled her idle fancy with a feather from his winged shoe, 
so that she was seized with a great passion of peeping ; and cracks became 



I873-] 



Pandora. 



297 




Mercury presenting Pandora to Epimetheus. 

sweet to her, and key-holes delicious, and cupboards irresistible ; and he 
slipped into her day-dreams, and showed her the transparent arches of Air, 
where spirits and fairies were building rainbows, and weaving gossamer, and 
dyeing down for the wings of butterflies, and painting petals for flowers in 
the seed ; and he whispered to her, " In the house of the Titans are works 
more dainty than these." And he showed her the central caves Of Earth, 
where goblins and gnomes were polishing slippery beads of quicksilver, and 
fitting the joints of precious crystals, and rolling together heavy atoms of 
gold, and boiling topazes in wine of sunset, and straining fused carbon for 
diamonds ; and he whispered to her, "In the house of the Titans are 
treasures more precious than these." And he showed her the deeps of 
Ocean, where tritons and nereids were salting the sea, and keeping time for 
the tides, and piling the cells of coral, and tinting the lips of shells ; and he 
whispered to Pandora, "In the house of the Titans are shows more amazing 
than these." 

And still Prometheus tarried from home, stirring among coarse herds of 
men, touching their lips with the live coals of inspiration he had snatched 
from Heaven, so that they moved in sweet psalms of praise and hope, and 



298 Pandora. [May, 

lofty hymns of liberty. But Epimetheus hid himself in trouble and forebod- 
ing, and awaited in silent anxiety the coming of his dark, proud brother. 
What was that he had done ? What was this that Jove was doing ? What 
beautiful danger was she that had stolen into their stronghold of iron and 
brass ? He started and trembled as the giddy laugh of Pandora, peeping, 
pryingi meddling, rang through the high, cold corridors, as she stealthily 
stooped with her dainty, pink ear at his door, finger on lip, watching, — all 
panting with keen curiosity, and smiling in the dear delight of mischief 
Her weak and shallow husband had left all the great, grim house to her ; 
she stood at last in the very chamber of Prometheus, — a lofty, dim rotunda, 
all of stone, pierced for one star-like light above. In the midst was a brass 
tripod, glowing with that fearful booty of live coals from Heaven ; overhead 
a brass lamp hung in chains, not still, nor creaking, but breathing like a 
living thing, with a coming and going flame ; under the roof a great Psyche 
butterfly, glorious in purple and gold, now resting with heavily waving 
wings, a panting poem of full rapture, now fluttering and flashing in and 
out of that star-like stream of Heaven, a sprite of immortal longing. And, 
save these, only one other thing — a tall jar of translucent pearl, of ever- 
changing shades, now bright, now dark, as from something moving within ; 
and from within came a humming and low roar, as of a bee-hive when the 
bustling swarm is crowded ; but the jar was closed fast with a lid. 

Now Pandora of the Prying Mind stood a-tiptoe, palpitating with wonder 
and expectation, with clasped hands and parted lips, a living statue of 
thrilled curiosity. Without, the whole house seemed, like herself, to hold 
its breath ; she heard the brazen lamp breathe quick, she heard the toad 
half turn upon a stone, she heard the slow, wide flapping of the great Psyche's 
wings, she heard the hollow murmur of the chamber, she heard the echo of 
her own heart-throb ; and with a little frightened flutter of giggle, that re- 
sounded under the brazen dome, she shut fast her sweet, foolish eyes, and 
snatched off the lid. 

Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r ! 

Up to the dome, around the walls, and through the door, and along the 
corridors, and across the columned vestibule, and out into the free air, and 
over the wide, wide world. 

Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r ! ! 

First of all, the Prying, Meddling Mind, Talebearing, Scandalous Re- 
port, Envy, Covetousness, Fraud, Cruelty, Pride, Revenge, Ignorance, Pov- 
erty, Disease, — 

Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r ! ! 1 The gifts of the angry gods ! 

But first of all flew forth the Prying Mind and the Meddling Disposition ; 
and last of all came Hope. 

Epimetheus wept, and wrung his hands ; the great Psyche butterfly fell 
to the ground with broken wings ; and Pandora died with dismay and fear. 

But in her last horror she had clapped down the lid of that fatal jar, and 
Hope, sweet Hope, was saved to the sons of men. 

J. W. P. 



i873-] How Lulu got Lost 299 



HOW LULU GOT LOST. 

LULU was a little black-eyed girl, with a slight, dancing, figure, a delicate, 
sfrirituelle face, and a blue-and-white sun-bonnet, ruffled all around. I 
call especial attention to this last fact, because whoever saw Lulu from six 
o'clock in the morning until six in the evening — when, tired out with the 
labors of the day and the care of her inseparable friend and companion 
" Minnie," she was generally ready to go to bed — was sure to see that same 
little sun-bonnet I can see it to-day, with my " mind's eye," as plainly 
as I can see the small face under it, although it must long since have 
become, if not " dust and ashes,' 1 at least pulp or paper. Perhaps by some 
strange alchemy it has been transformed into this very sheet upon which I 
am now writing. 

Lulu must have been about three years old when she " got lost" If you 
will wait a minute, I will tell you how I know. One day as I sat by my 
work-table, sewing busily, she came quietly into the room, — Minnie, blue sun- 
bonnet, and all, — and seated herself in a little chair by my side. I gave her 
a word and a smile, and then went on with my work. Presently a little hand 
stole into my lap. There it nestled for a moment, then crept softly upward 
until it clasped one of my fingers. I kissed the little hand, and laid it softly 
down again ; for how could I sew, fettered in that way ? Pretty soon the 
sun-bonnet was dashed upon the carpet, and the small brown head it had 
covered placed itself, with a faint little sigh, upon my knee. I smoothed 
back the disordered locks, patted the tiny, wistful face, and then turned to 
my work again. Those button-holes must be finished before dark, hit or 
miss ! After a while the little figure straightened itself up, a small arm 
made an attempt at encircling my waist, and the brown head rested against 
my arm, rendering any attempt at sewing somewhat akin to the " pursuit of 
knowledge tinder difficulties." But I persevered bravely, and at length a 
low, tearful voice beside me said, "If I had a little girl, just about three 
years old, I should pet her a great deal ! " 

Down went the work. Button-holes were of small account after that! 
" Pet her a great deal ! " Children, Lulu is a tall girl now, taller than any 
of you ; but I do not think she has ever lacked petting from that day to 
this. 

So I know Lulu must have been "just about three years old" when she 
got lost 

A few days after that, as we were all at the tea-table, — Minnie, head 
downward, squeezed into the higti-chair with Lulu, and the sun-bonnet 
tossed upon the sofa, — the little girl's papa said, " I must drive to the vil- 
lage after tea ; could n't I take Lulu with me ? " 

" O no ! " I answered. "It is too late. She must go to bed in half an 
hour." 

Lulu opened her eyes wide, but said nothing. Presently she finished her 



300 How Lulu got Lost. [May, 

bread-and-butter, slipped down from her chair, took Minnie (wrong end up, 
of course) and the sun-bonnet, and vanished. 

In half an hour I said to her nurse, " Louise, you had better go and find 
Lulu. It is time she was undressed." 

Louise departed ; and I heard her out in the yard calling, " Lulu ! Lulu ! " 
But no sweet, childish voice replied. I traced Louise, by the sound, from 
swing to garden, from garden to corn-house, from corn-house to barn. 
Then, growing uneasy, I went out to investigate the matter. 

" What is it, Louise ? can't you find Lulu ? " 

" No, ma'am," she answered ; " I can't find her anywhere." 

I rushed to the kitchen. " Mary, have you seen anything of Lulu ? " 

" Is 't Lulu you mane ? No, indade, mem ; I 've not seen the likes of 
her sence ye had yer tay." 

By that time Louise and I had become thoroughly frightened. Our near- 
est neighbor was nearly half a mile off, and the child was not in the habit of 
going to the creek alone. Nevertheless I said, turning to the two girls, 
"Mary, go through the woods to Mr. Merick's, and see if she is there. 
Where's Hugh?" 

" Milkin', mem," was the laconic answer. 

" Louise," I said, " do you go up the road to Mr. Van Arm's. 1 11 take 
Hugh and go down to the creek." 

There was no time for parleying, and we started in different directions as 
soon as possible. As I passed the barnyard, I shouted to Hugh ; " Hugh, 
leave your milking, and come with me." $ 

How I hurried down the lane, looking behind every pile of boards, peer- 
ing beneath every bush, and calling " Lulu ! Lulu 1 " at every step! 

She was not to be found. There were no traces of her at the creek ; no 
little footprints in the sand, no sign of doll or sun-bonnet. I glanced once, 
and only once, down into the clear, rippling water. I could not look there 
for my darling, — not yet 

It was after sundown, and, more alarmed than I would have liked to con- 
fess, I hastened back to the house. The whippoorwills were wailing in the 
woods. The shrill scream of the katydids resounded from the nearer trees. 
I shivered in the damp night-air. But where was Lulu ? 

The girls had got back, but with no tidings. Louise was wringing her 
hands, and Mary filling the air with her Irish lamentations. I thought they 
would drive me frantic. 

41 Hush, hush, girls ! " I said. " Be quiet, I beg. But O, if her father 
were only here ! " 

As if in answer to my wish he drove into the yard at that very moment 
I flew to his side and told him all there was to tell He looked at me ear- 
nestly for an instant, then pressed his* lips to my forehead. 

" Don't be frightened, dear," he said. " The darling can't be far off. 
We '11 find her in a trice." 

But half an hour afterward, when there was just a feint streak of daylight 
in the west, he took my hand in his and led me into the house. 



1873-] Haw Lulu got Lost 301 

" You can be of no use here," he said " And you look as if you had had 
a fit of sickness already. Go in and stay with little Willie. He needs 
you." 

I obeyed him, casting but one glance at his face, which was pale and anx- 
ious. Taking the baby from his cradle, I proceeded to undress him, my 
heart, the while, growing more and more heavy. Night was darkening the 
earth, and where was my child, — the one little daughter that God had given 
me? 

Louise came in with warm milk for Willie. Her cheeks were wet 

" They 've gone down to the creek again," she said, with a smothered sob. 
" Mr. Merick and Mr. Van Arm and all ! " 

That was why I had been coaxed into the house, then. My head sank 
into my hands, and for the first time that night I wept 

But just at that moment the door flew open, and there stood Miss Lulu, 
— her hair in a remarkable tumbled state, a look of sleepy wonder and 
bewilderment in her great, dark eyes, Minnie tucked under one arm, and 
the inevitable sun-bonnet under the other. I laughed and cried in the same 
breath. 

" O Lulu ! my child I We thought you were lost, were drowned. Where 
were you ? Where was mamma's darling ? " 

" I don't know. Asleep, I guess," she said, rubbing her eyes in an absent 
sort of way. 

" But your hair is full of straws, and your dress is in such a tumble ! 
Where has Lulu been ? Tell mamma ! Run quick, Louise, and let the 
men know that this young lady has made her appearance," I added, seating 
myself by the cradle, and clasping my recovered treasure closely to my heart, 
while I covered the little face with kisses. " Now, Lulu, where have you 
been ever since tea ? " 

"In papa's big wagon, under the seat ! " 

It seems that the child had climbed into a great lumber- wagon that stood 
in one corner of the yard, as soon as she left the tea-table ; and, feeling 
tired, had crept under the seat, with Minnie in her arms, and fallen fast 
asleep. We had passed the wagon at least a dozen times, but she was 
completely hidden from observation, and no one thought of looking there. 

" What did you get into the wagon for ? " I asked. " You '11 break your 
neck some time, climbing into all sorts of places. And you '11 frighten us to 
death into the bargain." 

"Lulu and Minnie going to ride," she said, patting my cheek softly. 
" Mamma said, * too late to go to the village with papa.' So we take just a 
little ride in the big wagon." 

The little witch ! But that is the way Lulu got lost 

Julia C. R. Dorr. 



302 Springtime Calendar. [May* 



SPRING-TIME CALENDAR. 

WHEN the skies begin to soften, 
Though the winds are rough and strong; 
When the sunny days come often, 

Though the snow-drifts linger long ; 
When the brooks begin to wonder 

If their stiver tongues are free, 
As the ice-chains o'er and under 

Loose their links regretfully; 
When the evergreens are telling 

To each other, crooning low, 
How the early buds are swelling, 

And the grasses springing so 
Boldly, where a slope or hollow 

Catches sunshine all the year, 
And the ferns are soon to follow, — 

Then we guess that Spring is near. 

When the arbutus is creeping 

Through the dim wood's dimmest ways, 
Where the shy sweet-brier, sleeping, 

Dreams its dreams of summer days ; 
When the willow wands are pushing 

Downy heads to meet the light, 
And the Judas-tree is blushing, 

(Shameful name for bloom so bright!) 
When the daffodil, awaking, 

Opens wide her golden cup, 
And the tulip's heart is breaking 

With its longing to come up ; 
When the crocus freely offers 

To the south-wind, straying near, 
All the gold within her coffers, — 

We believe that Spring is here. 

When the dreamy lilac, sighing, 

Swayeth languidly her plume, 
And the columbine, replying, 

Sends back wafts of wild perfume ; 
When the cherry's snowy fingers 

Beckon to the first wild bee, 
And each apple-blossom lingers 

In its bud impatiently; 
When the brown wren, pert and saucy, 

Seeks his meals before our door ; 



*#73-] Queer Things about Babies. 303 

And the martin, proud and glossy, 

Challenges his foe of yore, 
Bonny blue-bird, — fearless fellow! — 

When the robin gives us cheer, 
And the red-bird, and the yellow, — 

Then we know that Spring is here. 

Eunice E. Comstock. 



QUEER THINGS ABOUT BABIES. 

A GREAT many curious things happen to babies, in this round world of 
ours, that the readers of " Our Young Folks " probably never heard of. 
One thing is — planting them. This is done by the dark-skinned women 
of Guinea, and is n't half so dreadful as it sounds. The mother digs a hole in 
the ground, stands baby in it, and then packs the warm sand around him to 
keep him in place, — as you would set out a rose-bush. It keeps him out of 
mischief, and he can play in the sand while his mother works. All day 
long he stays in this odd crib, and at night, when she is done with her work, 
he is dug out 

When this agricultural mother wants to carry baby about, she ties him 
into a little chair which she straps to her back. If it is some very grand 
occasion, he is dressed neatly in stripes of white paint, and ornamented with 
dozens of brass bracelets and rings on arms and legs. A funny-looking 
baby he must be ! 

If you don't fancy a crib of sand for a baby, what do you think of a big 
shoe, stuffed with moss to make it comfortable ? The droll little Lapps 
cradle their babies in that way. The shoe is large, of course, and made of 
reindeer skin. It comes up high at the back, like the slippers we wear now- 
adays, and is turned up at the toes. The moss with which it is stuffed is 
the famous reindeer moss, soft and white ; and the odd little black-eyed baby 
looks very comfortable hanging from a tree, or slung across its mother's 
back. 

Perhaps this baby who lives in a shoe is no more comical than the baby 
who lives in a fur bag, — another sober little black-eyed baby, away off in 
the shivery Esquimaux huts. Besides being cuddled up in the fur bag at 
his mother's back, this round-faced little fellow wears a fur hood, and looks 
like some strange kind of animal peeping out on the world. 

You may have seen the Indian baby, or pappoose, bound flat to a board, 
— poor little creature ! One tribe, the Flatheads, make a rude sort of box 
of bark or willow-work, and wrap the baby — " little man," they call him — in 
a piece of blanket, strap him tightly to the box, and hang it across two sticks. 
Besides this, the unfortunate little fellow has a board bound over his fore- 
head to make him a Flathead. 



3<H 



Queer Things about Babies. 



[May. 




Babies in India. 

Even the Russian peasant mother cradles her baby on a square board 
hung from the wall by strings from each corner, like the pan in a balance. 

In India the funny little black babies either sit on their mother's hips and 
hold on by clasping their hands over her shoulder, or they take airy rides 
in a basket on her head. These babies are elegantly dressed in armlets, 
bracelets, anklets, and leglets (if one might make a word), finger-rings, toe- 
rings, ear-rings, and nose-rings. As for clothes, they don't need many when 
they wear so much jewelry. 

China babies — not dolls, but babies that live in China — are sadly in 
the way among the poor. Sometimes they are cradled in a bag on their 
mother's back, and sometimes they are tied to the backs of older children, 
who go about as though they had no such load. 

Many poor Chinese live in boats on the river, and the baby that comes to 
sudha family is tied by a long rope to the mast. It is long enough to let 
the child creep around, but not long enough to let him fall overboard. 

There is another curious custom regarding babies which prevails in some 
parts of China. If one dies, it is not buried, as older people are ; it is thrown 
out carelessly, and crackers are fired off at the door. Here and there, at 
the corners of streets, charitable people build small houses with openings 
to drop the neglected little bodies in, and that is all the burial they get 

Oiivt Thorn*. 




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Composed by Mary A. Island, age ia 



306 Our Young Contributors. [May, 

AN EXCURSION TO TIVOLI. 

We had been in Rome bat two or three days, and were to begin our sight-seeing 
by driving sixteen miles away, to Tivoli, older than Rome itself. 

To the regular jingle of the bells on the horses we set out across the level Cam- 
pagna, which stretched away in all directions, with gentle undulations here and there, 
bright with all beautiful hues of green, gray, or purple ; old ruins stood out against the 
sky, or a little river shone among the tall grasses for a while, 

After about three hours we reached the ruins of Hadrian's Villa. Here we dis- 
mounted, and, taking a guide, explored the remains of this villa, which was once so 
famous and magnificent It is, of course, all a confusion to one who is as little of an 
antiquarian as I am. We went through prisons, temples, baths, theatres, passages, 
halls, and rooms, and buildings of all kinds, with long walls and aqueducts extending 
out into the sunny fields. The costly marbles and works of art which have been 
excavated here have been taken away to adorn comparatively modern churches and 
art-galleries. The Venus of Medici and the celebrated mosaic of Pliny's Doves 
were found here. Growing all among the vast ruins were delicate spring wild-flowers, 
— periwinkle, babies'-breath, anemones, and many others which are wild here but 
cultivated at home. 

Again we took our carriages and drove on to Tivoli. The road winds up the side 
of a mountain, in the midst of olive orchards ; through the trees we had exquisite 
glimpses of the Campagna, stretching like a sea of color to the horizon. The dome 
of Saint Peter's showed distinctly, but no other sign of the existence of the " Imperial 
City " was visible. 

At length we reached Tivoli. We rattled through the narrow, dirty streets, beset 
with beggars, and stopped finally in one of the narrowest of them all What could be 
seen in such a horrid place ? I wondered ; but we got out, and walked through the 
hotel, and came suddenly on a scene of startling beauty. Before us were high hills 
clothed in the soft gray-green of the olive orchards j we stood on the edge of a deep 
ravine, beside the well-preserved ruin of the Temple of the Sibyl ; below us rushed a 
splendid cascade, dashing out volumes of spray in which the sun formed a perfect 
rainbow of the most vivid colors. Sitting in the little temple we ate our lunch and 
feasted our eyes on the scenery. 

After this, following our guide, we descended into the ravine. We entered a tun- 
nel hollowed through the face of the cliff, and came out into a most singular place, a 
sort of cave, with the water rushing over our heads, down at one side, and under us, 
with a deafening noise ; the rock was curiously worn by the force of the water where 
it had flowed ages ago, making a very remarkable roof to the cave. Afterwards we 
saw this same body of water plunge into the earth and disappear. I don't know where 
it comes to the surface again. 

When we had reached the lowest part of the ravine, we found donkeys waiting for 
us. We ascended a pleasant path through the woods to the high road. Following 
this, a long way, and running up a valley, we obtained a fine* view of the town, the 
temple, and three large cascades, framed in dark ravines or sunny greenery, and gleam- 
ing like silver. The picture was all brightness steeped in Italian sunshine, with a 
vividly blue sky above. 

Back we rode into Tivoli, to a villa belonging to the D'Este family.* Only the gar- 
den is open to the travelling public, and it is certainly the most charming garden 
imaginable. Fountains are everywhere ; along the sides of paths, at the ends of green 



1873] 



Our Young Contributors. 



307 



vistas, in the centres of all the open spaces ; forming cascades down the terraces, 
springing from groups of statuary, and flowing through artificial ponds or basins. 

Long terraces bordered by heavy stone balustrades, long flights of stone steps, 
statues overrun by luxuriant vegetation, with delicate maiden's-hair fern, and rose- 
bushes in full bloom clothing all, formed just my ideal of a garden, — old, tangled, 
neglected, with nature resuming her sway and softening the stiff lines of art 

It was now after five o'clock, so we took our carriages, which were waiting at the 
door, and started for Rome again. The sun soon set, and the gray shadows came 
stealing down from the mountains and spread over the Campagna. The sunset glow 
remained after it was nearly dark, and the effect of a ruin standing out black and 
weird against the brilliant color was quite startling. Then the moon grew luminous, 
and the stars came out Now and then a drove of mild-eyed, great-horned, gray oxen 
of the Campagna passed us, driven by a brown, picturesque peasant woman astride on 
a donkey. 

Quieted by the fatigue, lulled by the drowsy music of the bells, soothed by the cool 
soft breeze blowing against my hot forehead, I could have driven on and on in a spell 
of passive happiness forever ; but all too soon the charm was broken by our rattling 
into Rome, reaching the hotel, and discovering we were very hungry. 

S. P. C. 



A QUESTION. 



Long, dreamy purple shadows 

Crept down from the mountains high, 
Tenderly lifting the dying day 

Into the peaceful sky; 
And just as a sleepy robin 

Trilled his last note from his tree, 
All in her little white " nightie " 

Came my winsome wee birdie to me. 

How shall I show her to you, — 

Our darling so sweet and fair? 
Three summers, flying over her head, 

Have dropped sunshine in her hair; 
Her lips are like dewy rosebuds, 

And only the summer skies 
Can equal in depth and pureness 

The blue of her laughing eyes. 

Close in my arms she nestled, 

Dimpled fingers round mine clasped tight 
Marvelous tales she told me 

As we sat in the fading light ; 



All about books and dollies, 
Full of flowers and birds and bees, — 

The sweet voice rippled among the words 
As a brook sings under the trees. 

Then when the darkness deepened, 

And the clear stars came in sight, 
We whispered softly together 

Of God and the angels bright, 
Till the dear little head grew heavy, 

And there, in a tiny heap, 
With her rosy cheek on my shoulder, 

Was my baby, fast asleep ! 

But the violet eyes half opened 

When I laid her down to rest, 
And, as I stooped to kiss her, 

She murmured, in her nest, 
"I'll be the bestest baby, 

And go to heaven, I guess; 
But, when I has dot white wings on, 

How fall I button my dress?" 

A. E. Worcester, age 16. 



308 Our Young Contributors. [May, 

LIGHTHOUSE MARTHA. 

Little Martha lived in a tall lighthouse on a rocky point of land jutting out into 
the sea. When the tide was low and the waves were at rest, there was a smooth 
road of yellow sand reaching from the lighthouse to the shore, where stood the little 
fishing-village and its quaint old church. But when a strong wind came driving up 
from the eastward, the water would sweep over this road of sand, and so make Mar- 
tha's home an island. Here the child lived alone with her mother and father. 

It was the pleasure of Martha's life to go up the winding stairs with her father, at 
the close of each day, and watch him light up the big lamps of the lantern. When 
the little girl first saw them kindled into a blaze, she was almost blinded, and her 
heart beat quick with fear as she looked into the lantern's broad, glowing face. But 
very soon she began to love its warm, generous light, and to think of it as a dear friend 
that would shine above her and make the darkness cheerfuL 

The people in the fishing-village had great faith in the lighthouse. Built out on 
the rude granite breakers, it stood high and strong, and gave a character to the place. 
It seemed like a bold sentinel who had gone far out on the rocks to watch for storms. 

One summer noon Martha's father and mother went away to a town in the country, 
and left their little girl to keep the lighthouse that afternoon. Little Martha was not 
afraid to be left alone, there were so many things to interest her. At last she grew 
tired of watching the ocean, and she took pussy and sat down on the doorstep to 
watch for her parents. As she listened, she thought the waves gave forth a deeper 
moan as they beat upon the rocks. The wind, too, seemed to freshen, and the little 
girl could see that the trees in the village, which had stood so still in the afternoon, 
were now bowing to and fro. She had begun to feel quite chilly and sad, when she 
heard, on a sudden, behind her, the dread roll of thunder. 

She sprang up, and, followed closely by puss, ran around the lighthouse. Before 
her rose a mass of black clouds, fast mounting up the heavens. The lightning was 
striking back and forth from this inky mass, and out of it came the shuddering voice 
of the thunder. Puss was whining with terror, so her mistress took her up in her 
arms and carried her into the lighthouse, hoping her parents would come back soon. 
But when she found they would not be able to come, and that she would be left alone 
all night, the tears began to stream down her face. Then she remembered that the 
great light had not been lit, and she knew it would be a dreadful night for sailors near 
the coast So she started up, and, lighting a candle, ran up the winding stairs. As 
she opened the lantern door, a gust of wind blew the candle out, so she had to get 
another. 

When the lamps had been lighted, and the bright blare of light, thrown forward by 
the reflector, cast out upon the ocean a broad gleam, little Martha was very happy and 
grateful. She drew her chair into a corner of the lantern-loft, and gradually fell into 
a peaceful sleep. 

When her father and mother came, early in the morning, they found her fast asleep 
in her chair. 

" Why, Martha dear," said her mother, " did you light the lamp?" 

" Yes, mother," said little Martha, feeling very happy ; " but I was not lonely, for 
the great light was with me." 

Blanche Van Wagmm, age 14. 

MiDDLETON, N. J. 



1873] Our Young Contributors. 309 

MY GARDEN. 

Some years ago, I was given a plat of ground a yard square, which I dignified by 
the name of garden. I was also allowed a rake, a watering-pot, an old dress, and the 
" freedom of the place." All children like dirt, and I dug and planted to my heart's 
content My garden was filled with a choice collection of tiger-lilies and strawberries, 
interspersed — for the sake of variety — with dandelions, clover, and duckweed. 

It soon enlarged, and received numerous additions. Somebody gave me some col- 
umbine seeds, and somebody else made me the recipient of daffodil roots. I shortly 
afterward procured a promising young grapevine. I also tried my hand and hoe at 
the cultivation of lettuce (at which I did n't succeed). I next went into ecstasies over 
a slip of scarlet geranium. Finally I aspired to some morning-glories and sweet-peas. 

My garden changed like a kaleidoscope. As I grew older, my collections became 
choicer. I was once presented with a package of seeds marked " African roses. " I 
am not familiar with the botany of Africa, and I had not the slightest idea of what 
they were, but I supposed something very wonderful. I planted them with high 
hopes. Said hopes were somewhat quenched when the anxiously watched seeds 
turned out (out of the ground) to be poppies. 

Last year my garden consisted entirely of grass. Of all the enemies of flowers it is 
the worst. Weeds are of little account, and are easily pulled up ; grass is n't This 
"carpet of earth" is well enough in its proper place (everything has its right station 
somewhere), but I don't like it in gardens. It makes a pretty lawn, and is not partic- 
ularly objectionable when it appears in stacks of fragrant clover ; neither have I much 
aversion to it when seen along country roadsides, " wet with the morning dew and 
fringed with daisies and violets,' 1 etc., etc. (I believe that's poetry, but I can't remem- 
ber the rest of it). 

"As I was saying " (I borrow that expression from my great-aunt Huldah), my 
garden consisted of grass. It was not my fault, for I tried to weed it out I spent a 
hot evening in the garden on my hands and knees. I was covered with dirt and per- 
spiration. Mosquitoes filled the air. I pulled and pulled at the grass, and only suc- 
ceeded in breaking off little blades. Jt was impossible to force out the matted roots. 
I worked an hour and cleared a space a foot square. I was hot, tired, and covered 
with mosquito bites. I heard some one call, and, looking up, saw Ellen, who said 
somebody was in the parlor, waiting to see me. 

I hurriedly changed my dress and went in. On the sofa sat my most fashionable 
acquaintance, a young lady of twelve summers. We both felt stiff and ill at ease. 
Our first greetings over, we were at a loss to find subjects for conversation. I re- 
marked that the weather was very warm. She replied, yes, it was. There was an 
awful pause, during which she looked at her gloves, and I stared at the ceiling. " It 
looks as though we were going to have a shower," I ventured. She answered, she 
believed it did. There was another pause. She inquired if I was in a hurry to have 
school commence ? I said I was n't, this hot weather. We conversed a little on the 
subject of school. Another pause occurred. She said she would like to hear me 
play. I sat down at the piano. She turned the leaves, and experienced much incon- 
venience from her tight gloves. She remarked that the piece was pretty. Neither 
of us could find anything more to say. She guessed she must go, and accordingly 
departed, having made a call of seven minutes. 

I went back to my weeding. I looked around, but could not find the place I had 
cleared. Grass was everywhere. I sensibly concluded my labor made no impression, 



3io Our Young Contributors. [May, 

and that I had better let the garden alone. By July the grass was in fine condition, 
being nearly three feet talL I had it mowed soon after. 

My garden is usually conducted on something like the following plan. As soon as 
spring opens (which, in this latitude, is the middle of June) I plant my seeds. 
About eleven and five-eighths per cent come up, — which is quite good interest from 
the bank of earth. The transplanting, like everything on this earthly football, is a 
matter of labor and care. I consult the barometer, the thermometer, the clouds, and 
the almanac If the four indicate propitious weather, I envelop myself in a big apron, 
take a trowel, a knife, a watering-pot and several sticks in hands, and proceed to the 
scene of action. On my way to the garden, I consult the ant-hills concerning the 
state of the atmosphere. I will not weary you with the details of the transplanting. 
(That 's what writers always say when they have n't talent enough to describe what 
they wish to.) Suffice it to say that I never "set out" a particularly choice lot of 
seedlings but there comes a freezing wind from the Arctic Ocean, or a scorching 
simoom from Africa, or a flood from the clouds above. 

A few of the hardier ones survive only to fall a prey to marauding chickens, who 
roam about "at their own sweet will." Numerous bugs and beetles infest them. A 
stray calf gets in and tramples them. Everything owes them a special spite. By this 
time they are pretty well disposed of, rendering the " thinning out " advocated by 
gardeners quite unnecessary. The last and most important evil which besets them is 
the grass. About seven or eight live, and " waste their sweetness on the " — I forget 
the word — "air." 

But I have learned a lesson from my plants. The world sometimes wonders that 
the numerous offspring of the poor are so healthy and rugged, while the children of 
the rich are frequently sick and delicate. The answer is obvious, — the weak and 
sickly infants die oftener with the poor than with the rich, for they receive less care, 
but the world knows nothing of them ; and the naturally strong ones thrive with their 
rough treatment, and grow up with iron constitutions. 

Thus it is with my plants. The weak ones die off, and the survivors of their 
numerous hardships live, till, like grass, they are almost impossible to kill, or, to use 
Aunt Huldah's expression, till they are " tougher than biled owls." 

Betsey Fringe, age 14. 



A SPRING CAROL. 

The gray is stealing away from the blue, The bluebird calls to the babbling brook, 

The robin is singing so loud, The brooklet sings to the flowers. 

And the sunshine in glory is bursting And the blossom starts from the sun- warm 

through nook, 

The gates of the riven cloud. And blooms through the gladsome hours. 

The swallows are building under the eaves, 

The green is hiding the brown, 
And the sunbeams dance through the shimmering leaves, 
Or the rain comes pattering down. 

Eudora May Stone, age 12. 
Emerson, Otoe Co., Nebraska. 



1 873.] Our Young Contributors. 311 

MY SHIPWRECK. 

When I was a little girl about five years old, I went on a voyage to sea with my 
father and mother. The ship was loaded with coal, and bound for Panama ; so, in 
the month of May, with cheerful hearts and the prospect of a long and pleasant 
voyage before us, we sailed from New York, leaving home and friends. We little 
thought what would happen before we met again ! 

How pleasant those days upon the water were ! One of our occupations was 
catching, or trying to catch, the dolphins swimming around the ship. I liked to watch 
them very much ; and when the sun shone upon them, their backs glistened with the 
most beautiful colors. Sometimes a sea-bird would hit the mast or sails in its flight, 
and fall to the deck. Once father tied a flag around the neck of one, and then let 
it go ; another time, a pipe. 

I wish I could remember more about the voyage ; but it was a long time ago. One 
thing, however, I shall always remember, and that is the shipwreck. 

We had been out some time upon the passage, when a violent storm arose. How 
the waves dashed about the ship t The storm increased, so that we could hardly 
walk across the cabin without taking hold of something. The top of the stove came 
off, and the back of a heavy arm-chair fastened to the floor was broken. The lamp 
hung from the ceiling swayed to and fro violently. At the table, we had tq hold all 
the dishes ; the rack on the edge was not of the least use. 

At last, after a few days, the storm passed away j but before that we found our- 
selves in serious trouble. The ship was leaking. In vain the carpenter went down 
in the hold and tried to stop the leak ; the water gained. I remember going down 
there once. How dark it was, and how the water gurgled around the vessel ! 

At first the crew pumped a few hours at a time, then all day ; and finally, when 
we could not help seeing that our cruel enemy increased his power rapidly, the poor 
fellows were forced to pump night and day, with but little rest for each. 

At last we saw that it was no use ; the ship could not be saved. All that could 
be done had been done, and we began to get ready to save our lives, if possible. We 
were then about five hundred miles from Montevideo, with not a ship in sight ; and 
it was very doubtful if we could ever reach land in boats on such a sea. However, 
water and provisions enough to last were put up, and we were getting ready to leave 
the ship, when we saw that ever-welcome sight, a sail Nearer and nearer it came, 
and we soon discovered that it was a French bark. 

The signal of distress was raised, and a boat was sent over to see about taking us. 
The French captain was very unwilling ; he was afraid it would make trouble with 
the owners. 

It was night when we left the ship with all her sails set and ensign down. How 
fortunate that we left her when we did ! At twelve o'clock she was in sight, but at 
daylight she was gone ; sunk in that bottomless ocean where we should have been 
if God in his mercy had not saved us from death. 

In a short time we reached Montevideo, and there the bark left us and pursued 
its way. 

We went to Buenos Ayres, and sailed for New York in an American ship. We 
arrived safely home, after an absence of three or- four months. You can imagine the 
joy of our friends at seeing us once more. 

Susy Augusta Symonds, age 15. 

Ksmizsuiric, Mb. 




AGRICULTURAL PUZZLE. 
No. 70. 

1. Plant " Hero," and what will come 
up? 

2. Plant a Zouave, and what will come 
up ? 

3. Plant a widow, and what will come 
up? 

4. Plant wharves, and what will come 
up? 

5. Plant repentance, and what will come 
up ? 

6. Plant a slap, and what will come up ? 

Voyageuse and Harry. 

METAGRAM. — No. 71. 
Whole, I amuse. Beheaded, I warm. 
Beheaded again, I devour. Beheaded 
and curtailed, I caused strife. Curtailed, 
I am a preposition. Curtailed, I am an 
article. Curtailed or beheaded again, I 
am nothing. 

Jack Straw. 



ENIGMA. — No. 72. 
I am composed of 8 letters. 
My first is in tin, but not in zinc 
My second is in eye, but not in blink. 
My third is in green, but not in blue. 
My fourth is in nothing, not even you. 
My fifth is in young, but not in old. 
My sixth is in silver, but not in gold. 
My seventh is in moon, but not in sun. 
My eighth 's not in pistol, but always in 

gun. 
My whole is the name of a poet of fame, 
And if you don't guess it I won't be to 

blame - Consuelo. 

METAGRAM. — No. 73. 
First, I am a book. Change my head, 
and I am a famous city. Change again, I 
am a quantity. Change again, I am part 
of a building. Change again, I am the 
happiest place on earth. 



AdaM. Tillso*. 



ILLUSTRATED R EB U S. — No. 74. 




Jack Straw. 



18730 



The Evening Lamp. 



313 



ILLUSTRATED REBU S. — No. 75. 



vw yyyyyyy 




ENIGMAS. — No. 76. 

I am composed of 9 letters. 
My first is in new, but not in old. 
My second is in timid, but not in bold. 
My third is in whiskey, but not in gin. 
My fourth is in copper, but not in tin. 
My fifth is in cow, but not in calf. 
My sixth is in cane, but not in staff 
My seventh is in prison, but not in jail. 
My eight is in wind, but not in gale. 
My ninth is in fence, but not in gate. 
My whole is the name of a Western State. 
E. Z. E. Nuff. 

No. 77. 

I am composed of 12 letters. 
My 4, 7, 8, 5, is a large river. 
My i, 5, 9, 10, 4, 12, is a capital of one of 

the United States. 
My 12, 11, 10, 11, 3, is a British possession 

in Africa. 
My I, 11, 9, 2, 3, is a city of Switzerland. 
My 3, 2, 4, 12, is a lake of Mexico. 
My 6, 2, 3, 2, 1, 2, 9, is an island of Ocean- 

ica. 
My whole is a country of Asia. 

L.E. 

HIDDEN ORES.'— No. 78. 

1. Veronica, bring it in. 

2. Grandmother is growing old very 
fast. 

3. The topaz in Clara's ring is unusual- 
ly large. 

4. The troops were repulsed while ad- 
vancing. 

5. Cairo now appeared in view, 

M ; F T. K. s. s. 



A HIDDEN RIVER. — No. 79. 

Meandering through this seeming barren 

verse, 
There is a river whose unruffled flow 
Laves the sweet flowers that on its margin 

blow, 
And bears the shipping of the universe. 
Great towns are watered in its onward 

course, 
Whose lofty spires and domes stretch up 

toward heaven, 
And yet are hid beneath the shelter given 
By huge old trees that over them incline. 
No eye can view its beauty plain but mine, 
For I alone control the potent key 
That guards its secret in unyielding gloom : 
My hand can reach to draw it from the 

tomb, 
In which, imbosomed by its trees and 

flowers, 
It vainly waits, through long, slow-moving 

hours, 
Ere it can hope some skilful hand to see 
Raised to unveil its shrouding mystery. 
Wonny Wy. 

CHARADE. — No. 8a 

My First. 
Soil and sand, 
Here I stand. 

My Second. 
Prom a bird 
I am heard. 

My Whole. 
Black and green 
I am seen. 

Jack Straw. 



314 



The Evening Lamp. 



[May. 



HIDDEN CONTRIBUTORS TO 
O. Y. F.— No. 81. 

i. She is as fond of the odor as of the 
flower. 

2. Your silly palaver ill becomes your 
dignity. 

3. Did I err when I said that the ther- 
mometer was at zero set? — Err! Yes 
indeed ! 

4. Little Jo nestled close to his mother's 
side. 

5. Around the doorstep hens gather for 
their food. 

6. Thou, Bob, art letting thy temper 
get the better of thy discretion. 

Fanny Higgins. 

CHARADE.— -No. 82. 

My first we feel every summer. 

My second soldiers use. 

My third is what a cockney calls my first 

My whole is a savage. 

Ada M. T, 



DOUBLE ACROSTIC— No. 83. 
z. A part of a balance. 

2. A contrary current. 

3. A kind of sword. 

4. A space of time. 

5. A forlorn condition. 

The initials name a precious stone; 
the finals an aromatic gum. 

Rutkven. 

WORD SQUARES. — No. 84. 

1. Connection. 

2. A knot. 

3. A town. 

4. A tree. 

5. Approaches. 



U A. White: 1 



No. 85. 

1. A female name. 

2. A male. 

3. Mingled with. 

4. A cooking apparatus. 

5. A ministering spirit 



Ella M.N. 



ANS WERS. 



48. "One Word" 

49. Ousel. 

SO.ROME 51. ENACT 
OBED NACRE 

MERE ACTED 

EDEN CREED 

TEDDY 
5a. In order to understand an opinion, strange to 
say, we must use our understandings. But in many 
cases we discover the fact after it is too late, and 
then strive to hide our chagrin behind an off-hand 
jest. [(/« order 2) {under stand) an (open eye 
0n\ (Stearange)(a J sA): (wee) (m u's T) (u f s) 
(hour) (under stand in G S). (But in many cases) 
(wee) (d eyes cover) the (fact after it) (eyes) 
(too) (1 eight), and (t hen) (s triv) (a) (hide) (hour) 
(ch a grin) behind an (O FF hand) jest.] 

53. In the midst of life we are in death. {In the 
midst tf/LIFE, wee r m DEATH.) 

54. Candy. 

55. Aspinwall. 

56. Boarding-school 

57. S 
ONE 

SNAKE 

EKE 

E 

58. Cain, gain, lain, main, pain, rain, vain. 

59. Bee, beer, beast. 

6a Take a piece of writing- paper about twice as 
long as it is broad, and fold each end as follows : 
Turn the upper corner down as shown in Fig. 1 ; 
then fold the other upper corner over that, as in 
Fig. a. Fold the other ends similarly ; then double 
lengthwise as in Fig 3 ; double again lengthwise 
(Fig. 4), and cut in the direction of the dotted 



A 



}\ 



sz Nq 



61. LOVER 63.RIVAL 
OLIVE ITALY 
VITAL VAPOR 
EVADE ALONE 
RELET LYRES 

63. Nightingale. (Night-in-gale ; nigh-tin-gale.) 

64. Nora, Arno, Roan. 

65. 1. Can-a-rye. a. Turn-stone, 3. Wood- 
cock. 4. Her-on. 5. Pig-e-on. 6. Spar-row. 
7. Mag-pie. 8. Chick-a-dee. 9. Pe-wee. 

66. Here 's a health to all those that I love, 
Here *s a health to all those that love me ; 

Here 's a health to all those that love them that 

I love, 
And to them that love those that love me. 

67. 1. Versailles, a. Paris. 3. Mobile. 4. 
Madrid. 5. Venice. 6. Dublin. 7. Bombay. 

68. Answer to cipher: "How do you do?" 
Key : Use first the next letter following the one 
desired ; for the second letter, the second time, use 
the second letter following; the third time, use 
the third, &c. 

69. Bordeaux. (Board O.) 



- hRS 




Cincinnati, Ohio, March 16, 1873. 
TO THE PUBLISHERS OF "OUR 



1 



YOUNG FOLKS." Ghntlhmen, — I saw, 



in last December's number of "Our Young 
Folks," an enigma justly attributed to the cele- 
brated authoress, Miss Anne Seward, — not Strut- 
mrd, as you print it, — the answer to which is 
published in the March number of the same 
excellent magazine. 

Now, excuse me when I assert that this 
answer is not the one told me when Wring in 
England. More than sixty years ago my mother, 
who was a wonderful expounder of every descrip- 
tion of riddles, explained to me the one in ques- 
tion, as follows : Miss Seward was well acquainted 
with the great lexicographer, Dr. Samuel John- 
son, whose native place, which suggested this 
enigma, was within sixty miles of mine, and, being 
disposed to pay him a compliment, wrote the 
riddle which I give you below. 

As regards the fifty pounds reward, it is so long 
since it was offered, I do not recollect whether or 
not it was ever claimed. 

Miss Seward's enigma, with my mother's solu- 
tion : — 

The noblest object in the world of art, — Laocoon 

of Apollo. 
The brightest gem that nature can impart, — Eye 

(vowel /). 
The point essential in a lawyer's lease, — Time. 
The well-known signal in the time of peace, — 

Cornucopia. 
The former's prompter, when he drives the 

plough, — Hope. 
The soldier's duty and the lover's vow, — Fidel- 
ity. 
The planet seen between the earth and sun, — 

Idalia, or Venus. 
The prize that merit never yet has won, — Ease. 
The miser's treasure and the badge of Jews, — 

Lucre. 
The wife's ambition, and the parson's dues, — 

Duty. 
Now, if your noble spirit can divine 
A corresponding word for every line. 
By the first letters quickly will be shown 
A loyal city of no small renown, — Litchfield, the 
birthplace of Dr. Johnson, known in the time of 
the Romans. 



I have taken " Our Young Folks," without in- 
terruption, ever since it was first published, and 
one or two of my grandchildren, who inherit my 
mother's faculty of divining hidden mysteries, join 
me in welcoming each month this interesting and 
instructive volume. Aged as I am, as soon as the 
leaves are cut, I turn to the " Evening Lamp " 
with as much eagerness as those of smaller growth, 
and seldom relinquish it till more than half the 
puzzles are made clear, though we think some of 
the illustrated rebuses are far-fetched- Freely 
criticise the accompanying solution of Miss Sew- 
ard's enigma, and oblige me by answering this 
hasty communication of your well-wisher, and 
Yours respectfully, 

Anns Ryland (in her 77th year). 

Our correspondent will please accept our thanks 
for the light she has thrown upon this remarkable 
riddle. The answer she gives is probably the 
correct one, and yet in some respects it is inferior 
to the one worked out by " T. F.," whose ingenu- 
ity shines all the more conspicuous by the light 
of this elucidation. 

We have no important criticism to make ; ob- 
serving only that Lichfield, the birthplace of Dr. 
Johnson, is commonly spelled without the t which 
appears in this solution. " Laocoon of Apollo" 
is manifestly a slip of the pen. The famous group 
of statuary known as the Laocodn is said to be the 
work of Agesander of Rhodes; and it may well 
dispute with the Aficllo Belvedere the title of 
"the noblest object in the world of art." Miss 
Anna Seward — if she, and not " Anne Steward," 
wrote this enigma — was a voluminous writer of 
prose and verse, and herself for many years a 
resident of Lichfield. Born in 1747, she died in 
1809, bequeathing to Sir Walter Scott a mass of 
manuscript poetry and correspondence, which he 
edited with a Memoir. 

Our rebus-makers will please take notice of our 
correspondent's criticism. 

Watertown, N. Y. 
Dear Sirs : — 

I am building a boat after the plan you gave in 

your August number of 1872. and like it very 

much. Will you be so kind as to let me know 

what kind of a sail I can put in her ? We have 

quite a nice place to sail a boat, and I also want 



3i6 



Our Letter Box. 



[May, 



to go on the lake (Ontario) with her in 

A party of us are going to camp out on the 



Yours truly, 

Young Boat-buildejl 

For a sail-boat with a single mast, a " fore-and- 
aft " sail is the only thing to be recommended. 
Common fore-and-aft sails, if of any considerable 




size, are furnished with tackle for raising and 
spreading them, as shown in the cut. But as your 
boat is probably quite small, a simpler style of 




sail will answer yoor purpose, like this of which 
we give a drawing. It can be hung on the mast 
by the loops, called "grommets," and stretched 
by means of a "sprit" extending diagonally 
across the sail from the upper outward corner 
to a "becket" hung midway on the mast. 
The " becket " is a short rope having one large 
loop, through which the mast passes, and another 
smaller *one, or "eye," in which the end of the 
sprit rests. The corner of the sail is also fur- 
nished with an eye, formed by gathering into a 
small loop the rope or heavy cord which sur- 
rounds the entire sail. The ends of the sprit are 
shaped to fit into these eyes, without slipping 
through them. The sprit sail may have a light 
boom, or not, as you please. Instead of lowering 
the sail when you are through using it, slip the 
sprit out of the becket and turn it in your hands, 
rolling the sail up on it ; then bind both neatly to 
the mast with the " sheet." 

Let us warn you, however, that the kind of 
boat you are building will not be a safe thing to 



sail in on the lake, except in experienced and very 
careful hands. The first flaw will capsize you. 

Polly PrinceUm % writing from Stockton, Califor- 
nia, sends — along with answers which came too 
late for acknowledgment last month — this inter- 
esting question for the " Letter Box," which " some 
kind young person " is requested to answer : — 

"After water has been standing some time, I 
have often noticed that minute bubbles collect 
on the sides of the vessel which contains it 
What causes them to collect there ? " 

N. W '. — Alfred Tennyson is the author of the 
poem of " The Lotos- Eaters," beginning, — 
*' ' Courage I ' be said, and pointed toward the land." 
Your question regarding "Miriam," in Haw- 
thorne's M Marble Faun," we cannot positively 
answer, though we have little doubt of her being 
a purely fictitious character. 

A Uu, Josu % and Lou. — Rosa Bonheur (pro- 
nounced Bun-urr, or nearly so, accenting both 
syllables alike) is a celebrated French painter, 
born in Bordeaux in 1822. Her love of animals 
and her enthusiastic devotion to art have made 
her one of the most conscientious and faithful 
delineators of animals in the world. She is very 
industrious, and her pictures command the highest 
prices. 

Your other questions have either been answered 
in the " Letter Box," or are hardly appropriate 
for it. 

SAN MATEO, CAL-. February x& 1873. 
Dear Editors; — 

Do you remember the rhyming list of English 
Sovereigns beginning 

" First William the Norman, 
Then William hi* son" t 

It was of great use to me when at school, and even 
now some of the lines come back to my memory 
very conveniently at times. 

If you think the enclosed rhyming list of Ameri- 
can Presidents will be of similar use to any of the 
little readers of" Our Young Folks," please drop 
it into the " Letter Box." 

Truly yours, 

EafELBON. 

AMERICAN PRESIDENTS. 

First Washington, Adams, 

With Jefferson reckoned ; 
Next Madison, Monroe, 

Then Adams the second. 
Andrew Jackson came next, 

Of New Orleans fame ; 
Van Buren, and Harrison, 

And Tyler next came. 
Then Polk, and then Taylor, 

Then Fillmore, and Pierce, 



1873] 



Our Letter Box. 



317 



Then Buchanan, then Lincoln, 
With war's dreadful curse. 

Then Johnson, of whom 
There is little to say, 

And now Grant, who presides 
At the White House to-day. 

Dear «• Young Folks " : — 
Can you tell me where the Terse — 

*"T Is good to be merry and wise, 
T I* good to be honest sad true, 
T is good to be off with the old lore 
Before you axe on with the new " — 

comes from ? I have looked in various places, and 
have not been able to find it 

Yours trujy and admiringly, 

A. D. 

Cincinnati, February 19, 1873. 
Dear " Youkg Folks " : — 

Will some of you please tell me something about 
" Whittington and bis Cat " ? Also where to fiod 
the following quotations? — 

x. "He that good tMnketh, good may do, 
And God will help him thereunto ; 
For never was good work wrought 
Without beginning of good thought" 

a. "A looker-on in Vienna." 

3. - Patience on a monument, smifing at Grief." 
Evelyn. 

NASHUA, N. H., February so, 1873. 
Mr. " Editor " : — 

Can you or any of your numerous family of 
Young Folks tell me the meaning of the letters 
" R. S. V. P. " when attached to a card of invita- 
tion? 

We are all here very much interested to find 
out how Jack Hazard succeeds in "doing his 
best" He has my best wishes in his way through 
school. Mother says she is not too old to feel an 
interest in Jack's adventures, and that she remem- 
bers some masters, in the early part of her school- 
days, of whom '* Mr. Dinks " reminds her very 
forcibly. I am glad the times and customs have 
changed since then. 

Hoping that you will answer the question at the 
first of this letter, I remain, 

Yours truly, 



The initials M R. S. V. P." are supposed to 
stand for the French, Ripondez, til vous plait, — 
"Answer, if you please." 

1 he scenes in Mr. Dinks's school-room — even 
to the two hsads in the table-drawer — are all 
taken from life ; not a single incident has been ex- 
aggerated, — as some may need to be told, who 
never had the pleasure of an acquaintance with 
Master Dinks or his method. 



VASSAR COLLEGE, February 3, 1873. 
Dear " Young Folks " : — 

Can some of the Young Folks tell me where 
the following lines are found? 
"I believe if I should die. 
And you should kiss my eyelids when I lie 
Cold, dead, and dumb to all the world contains. 

The folded orbs would open at thy breath. 

And from its exile in the aisles of death 

Life would come gladly back along my reins." 

If any one can tell me where the rest of this snatch 
of poetry is found, it will very much oblige 

Amy. 

J?. C. Fori* writes, " Here is a puzxle similar 
to the one in the February " Young Folks " : — 

"U O O, You sigh for a cipher, 

1 O T H E E. I sigh for thee. 
O O N O O, O sigh for no cipher, 

O O M E. O sigh for me." 

Messrs- " Editors" : — 

I send you the following very ancient riddle. 
Is it worthy of a place in the - Young Folks" ? 
Can any one tell the answer? 

OLD RIDDLE. 
There was a man of Adam's race. 
Who had a certain dwelling-place. 
He had a house all covered o'er, 
Where no man dwelt since or before. 
It was not built by human art 
Of brick or lime in any part, 
Of rock or stone in cave or kiln, 
But curiously was wrought within. 
T was not in Heaven, nor yet in Hell, 
Nor on the earth where mortals dwell. 
Now, if you know this man of fame, 
Tell where he lived, and what his name* 
I am delighted with the answer to Miss Sew- 
ard's riddle. Did she leave an answer, and, if so, 
with whom ? 

As regards the ASolian harp, some one suggests 
that the strings be all tuned to one and the same 
note (D is the best). The air blowing with differ- 
ent degrees of force will excite different sounds, 
— tones of sound, more properly. 

Grandmother. 

" Grandmother " will be interested to see a com- 
munication regarding Miss Seward's riddle in an- 
other part of the " Letter Box." 

CLEVELAND, OHIO, January 18, 1873. 
Dear Editor : — 

The enclosed stanzas will probably make a good 
impression if spoken in a very clear voice. One 
cannot appreciate tne rhyme unless the verbs are 
distinctly spoken. 

Please to answer three questions which I shall 
ask. 1. Of what use is Algebra? a. From my 



320 



Our Letter Box. 



[May. 



The lines by an invalid titter, aent by Clara D. 
H. f are interesting, and really remarkable consid- 
ering the circumstances in which they were written ; 
and we are sorry that we cannot make use of at 
least one of the pieces. We venture to extract 
from the accompanying letter this touching de- 
scription of the invalid : — 

" She is fifteen years old, and has been confined 
to her bed or chair for ten long, suffering years ; she 
has a spinal trouble, and can never be any better 
but, in spite of her illness, she is the life of the 
house, and in her hours of pain never utters a word 
of complaint. She is a true Christian, if there ever 
was one, and talks so sweetly always. Every one 
loves her and cares for her. When you consider 
that she has never been at school since she was 
five yean old, you mutt think, with me, that her gift 
is wonderful." 

Maud* H^ Ejffu S. t and Edith C. — Your 
compositions are pretty well written, but the sub- 
jects treated are not particularly interesting. 

New YORK, February 17, 1873. 
Dear "Young Folks": — 

I have taken your delightful magazine ever 
since the very first number, and words cannot ex- 
press the pleasure and comfort I find in it, — and not 
only myself, but the whole family. I am especially 
interested in the " Young Contributors' " corner, 
and have often wished that I could write some- 
thing worthy of your acceptance. Seeing, in your 
replies to your correspondents, that you are fond 
of encouraging the literary efforts of your young 
friends, I venture to send you one of my little 
scribbles, hoping that you will " make the beilu 
of uth, Thquirc, not the wortht ! " 

If you will be so kind as to put a little note in 
the " Letter Box" for me, I shall be very thank- 
ful. 

Your admirer and friend, 

Jessie. 

Here are Jessie's verses ; and we think our 
readers will agree with us that they contain a 
pretty, natural picture. 

MAMMA'S RETURN. 
I hear the front door softly open, 

A tired footstep on the stair ; 
Two heads appear above the landing. 

With eager eyes and tangled hair. 

" Mamma 's come I" they gnyly whisper ; 
" Hush I let's catch her on the sly." 
Back they draw into the shadow, 
While she passes, heedless, by. 

Quickly now they spring upon her ; 
Kisses soft and sweet I hear ; . 
Then there comes the anxious question : 
" A ny candy, mamma dear ? " 

Jessie. 



Eva B. writes, in answer to Nellie M. Brown's 
question : "The picture on the cover of ' Our Young 
Folks * represents Minerva, or Pallas, the Goddess 
of Wisdom and the Fide Arts. She is described 
in mythology as having a helmet on her head, an 
owl by her side, and holding in one hand the a*gis» 
or buckler, on which is fastened the head of Me- 
dusa, one of the three Gorgons." 

The question was also answered variously by 
" Kikeri, " " Ivie," C. C. Symmes, Lovell A Rus- 
sell, P. W.Shipman, Eddie C. Ackley, Helen Htn- 
man, Myrtle May, Willi* McGroarty, H. B. Vail], 
and Kate Moore, who says : " As the face is so 
youthful, it perhaps represents a child with the 
surroundings and significance of Athena [Miner- 
va], thus combining both youth and wisdom.** 
Minnie R. says: "Young Minerva, or Youthful 
Wisdom " ; and Osborn Curtis, still more briefly, 
•• Youthful Wisdom." 

So many lists of answers to our last month's 
puzxles have been received, that we can find room 
to acknowledge only a few of the very best of them 
These were sent in by " Brother Jonathan " (who 
answered all but three), "Rosabel," D. R. U-, 
Pelham W. Shipman, Chas. A. Mead, Lottie and 
Hattie Carryl, Charlie C, W. S. Howell, Lizzie 
Grubb, E. M. C, Helen W. A, Charlie Knight, 
"Kikeri," Ella McNee, Kitty A Loomis, E. 
Grace Shreve, Percy Vere, Annie and Bertha 
Shoemaker, Allie Havens, Herbert Williams, B. 
K P., Clara Hannum, Kate and Robert. Nora 
Nice, Annie Case, Eddie C. Ackley, " Hep," Ber- 
tha, J. H., Helen Hinman, and Minnie Thomas. 

Fannie and Sophia Cary send answers to six- 
teen numbers, including this rhymed answer to 
No. 67: — 

We crossed the English Channel 
In the midst of winds and gales. 
The place that we were bound for 
Was the beautiful Vtrsailbt. 
From there to lively Paris, 
Staying but a day or two, 
For we meant to visit Mobttg 
Ere our journey all was through. 
Then we travelled into Spain, 
Stopped at Madrid for a while, 
Next to Venice then to Duiim, 
On the sunny Emerald Isle. 
And after many travels, 
On a lovely April day 
We sailed into the harbor 
Of the city of Bombay. 

Charlie D. Hamilton. —Yam Mcond letter, 
concerning the proposed plan for "camping out,** 
came too late for insertion. We have handed it 
to the author of the "Camping Out" series of 
books, who will answer through the " Letter Box " 
numerous inquiries on the subject. 



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1 am rcxpcctfuily your*, 

obo u palwir, 

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i 873- 



CONTENTS, 



Trvwfrufr 



A. Wadsmrth . 

CA.Sttfi&ms 
m) 

L&ttfo Adams 

:xna ,\L Craik . 



Dorse nts Best - 
" 3 
« XIX. Tun 

BtfTTERFLT BLUE AXI> GltASSHOPFCn \ 

low (Poem) . - 
The Stort of a Sky-Stoh 

How a Girl iin 
Rolf's Leaf 
Froggie AXD I 

The Screw Propelled >verer AC S. Dodge „ 

Olh* Tntrue* 
*A PERFECF 1 .' £/% 

The Robin's Proi i £ar«ni Btme . 

Tbe Sleep Angel , Martha Nkk&h 

Our Yl.: rntmuTOHfl 

How Hah*v C ^ Prince* 

Sum <Am£ 

BaKY *5 DOING TO Si EG !• 1 

Boat Sohc {Po, 

The Evi 

CooUnunr, ng Charade, try S, Am*ra. Fumr* Enigma*, MetaffarAi* ChiridtK 

Word Squares. JUtultattd Ktbus, ATunnr*, tie: 

Our Letter Box 

Con tiininj Letters fhxo Correspondents nod Aavtten, etc 



321 



33* 
333 

338 

344 

3S4 

3S* 
3J* 

3«3 
3« 






379 



I 



THE JULY NUMBER 

Will contain four chapters of 41 Doing his Best" describing the boys' "grand scheme/* 

■ the colt, and how the 1 Nick," ooe ol I 

abeth Kilham's lively sketches ; an entertaining paper on Weasels, by C 
" Aunt Patty's Bead Bag/* a charming girls' stoty, !»y a new contributor ; an r. 
account o! i variety of other articles in prose and verse, and a capital 

pkfttl The Dutchman and the liig F • 



TO SUBSCRIBERS. 

EP* Etenr letter on btnineaa relating to ** Qux Youjw Folks m should tan the name of like StaTi at 

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Ft r x ra t ordering e change in direction of mfiettmet should i!«im psv* both ine >-<'</ and the ttnr' 
nrfttlL And notice u. 'a Mer« ifcr ,1th uf any tt 

martinet for the foil ow ms mottth nay bear the proper direction, 

TERMS — The puce of Our > club (ermtv An eatr* copy £T*ti§ 

for every five tobtcr . Montklv, f $.00 peri 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, Pur 

Late Ticknor & Fields, axu Fields, Osgood, & Co , 

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. '.^#fe. ?-m>*yi 




OUR YOUNG FOLKS. 

An Illustrated Magazine 
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 



Vol. IX. 



JUNE, 1873. 



No. VI. 



DOING HIS BEST. 
CHAPTER XVI. 

THE STRANGE VISITOR. 

r HE violence of this action so excited Lion again, 
that, in spite of all Jack's efforts to hold him, he 
would have sprung at the man's throat, had not the 
deacon himself, after an instant's reflection, with- 
drawn his hand and driven back the dog. 

"Why," said Dr. Doyley,— or John Wilkins, 
or whatever his name may have been, — quickly 
regaining his equanimity, "in answer to your 
remarkable question, — this is the way I commonly enter 
houses, since I 've taken up the profession of a phrenol- 
ogist" 

"How long have you followed that?" demanded the 
deacon. 

" Not very long, I confess. It's a new science, and I 
am new in it. But I 've made some good hits in the case 
of your son here " ; and the doctor managed to convey a 
peculiar meaning in his tone and look as he waved his 
hand towards Phineas. "That you know better than 
anybody. No harm done, sure. Bright boy, and I take 
an interest in him. You can't help that. And if yam 
have the boy's interest at heart, — well, to say the least, you '11 invite me to 
dinner," he added, with a grimace meant for a smile. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Jamks R. Osgood & Co., in the Office 
of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
VOL. DL — NO. VI. 21 




322 Doing his Best [June, 

" I '11 invite you to walk out of that door, and never darken it with your 
shadow again ! You impostor ! " 

Wilkins stepped back and quietly laid his hand on Phin's shoulder. " If 
that 's your game," said he, " very well ! I 'm the best-natered man in the 
world, but — " 

"O husband! deacon!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatford, clasping the good 
man's arm, to restrain him. " Consider ! " 

u After his promise to me ! " said the deacon. 

" I hain't forgot that promise," said Wilkins, glancing from the deacon to 
the dog with no little anxiety in his smile, — for Jack stood ready to launch 
that growling thunderbolt at any moment. " And I shall keep it, unless you 
force me to break it in self-defence." 

" But here you are in my house ! Is that keeping your promise ?" 

41 A nat'ral curiosity ; ye can't blame me for that" 

" It was natural ; you '11 allow so much," said Mrs. Chatford, still restrain- 
ing her husband. " Hear to reason ! Let him stay to dinner, if he will ; you 
never denied any man a dinner yet." 

" How can I trust him a minute ? " said the deacon, with huge dissatisfac- 
tion in his face. " Even the dog scents his villany ! Where have you ever 
met this man, Jack ? " 

Jack, who had been eagerly watching for an opportunity to put in a word, 
related briefly the adventure at the village tavern. " It seemed to me then I 
had seen him before, though I can't tell where ; Lion had, any way. He was 
with Paul Peternot, at Wiley's Basin ; and the dog seems to connect him 
somehow with the cause of his master's death." 

" It is my fate to be misunderstood," said the doctor, with a deprecating 
wave of the hand and a sad smile. " • Thus ever from my childhood's hour,' 
as Shakespeare says. I try to save my friend, and git the ill-will of his dog. 
I stop a runaway hoss, and am accused of stealin'. I enter this house on an 
urrant of love " (I suppose he meant errand), " and I 'm suspecte'd of treach- 
ery. Things that seem dark in the past " — bowing to the deacon — " might 
be as easily explained. I have a bad fault, a bad fault ! I say to myself a 
dozen times a day, ' Don't be so obligin' ! Do hold up a little ! You 're too 
etarnally good-natered ! ' I say, and that's the fact" 

He stepped and took his hat from the bureau, his overcoat from a chair, 
and a small and very lean looking valise from the floor. 

'* Sir," bowing to the deacon, " your very humble servant. Madam, the 
same to you. I cut the Gordian knot of the present diffikilty by withdraw- 
in', — amicably withdrawin'. I might be vindictive, but I prefer to be gen- 
erous. For the sake of some one who shall be nameless" — a very pro- 
found and significant bow — " I smother my resentment, and take everything 
in good part. I waive the question of dinner, and — adieu ! " 

And, having patted Phineas fondly on the shoulder, he bowed very low to 
the rest, smiled ironically, put on his hat with an ornate flourish (he had al- 
ready put on his overcoat), and departed, — very much stared at by all, and 
growled at not a little by Lion. 



1873.] Doing his Best. 323 

Phin was the first to speak. " Father ! where did you ever see that man 
before?" 

" No matter, 1 * replied the deacon, frowning darkly, and appearing much 
agitated. " I had some dealings with him years ago. I can't explain now ; 
maybe I will some time, when you get old enough to understand*" 

"Is his name Doyley ? " Phin persisted. v 

" No more than it is Wilkins. Now, don't ask any more questions. He 'ft 
a slippery, oily-tongued, unconscionable knave 1 though I think he must 
have been hard up when he took the risk of stealing Forrest's horse." 

a Did he ever see me before ? " 

u No, no ! Or, if he ever did, it was before we moved into this town. He 
was never here before." 

" We 've lived here ever since I was a baby," Phin urged. " Then how 
could he know so much about me ? There must be something in phre- 
nology." 

" Maybe there is. Now, let me never hear this subject mentioned again.'* 
said the deacon, sternly. " Is dinner ready ? Come, let 's sit down. Jack, 
you have n't told us about your visit yet How do you like the idea of Percy 
Lanman for a schoolmaster ? " 

So the conversation was turned to other subjects ; and, though the fami- 
ly's strange visitor was a good deal talked of in whispers, and Phin teased 
his mother about him till he got his ears boxed, nobody ventured again to 
speak of him in the presence of the deacon. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

PERCY LANMAN'S SCHOOL. 

On the following Monday Jack returned to school with higher hopes and 
brighter prospects than ever. By his battle with Lon Gannett and his little 
affair with Master Dinks he had won a reputation which made him the most 
popular boy in school. Those who had formerly been his enemies, now 
sought his friendship ; while the better class of pupils, who as a rule de- 
spised fighting and condemned resistance to lawful authority, could not but 
admire the lad who had shown so much spirit in his own defence, and so 
much generosity and courage in the defence of others. 

Poor little Step Hen Treadwell lived in peace after that, and there waft 
very little tyranny exercised over the small boys during the rest of the win- 
ter. This better state of things, however, was owing in part to the influ- 
ence of the new teacher. 

Percy Lanman reopened the school, which had been closed in the irregular 
manner described by Moses, on very different principles from those which 
had actuated the unsuccessful Dinks. Quiet, energetic, pleasant, prompt, 
his presence in the school-room brought with it a new atmosphere. The very 
sight of him was a delight to Jack's eyes ; the sound of his voice kindled 
love and ambition in his heart 



324 Doing his Best [June, 

" Young ladies and gentlemen, and boys and girls," said Percy, in calling 
the school to order the first morning, " I hope we all understand what we 
are here for. It is not for play ; it is not to have some fun. Though play 
and fun are good things in their way, and I hope to enjoy them with you in 
the right time and place, our chief business in this room, during school-hours, 
is study. I am here to help you ; and I shall help you in every way I can. 
In return, you must help me. You will help me, and so help each other, by 
being cheerful, quiet, orderly, industrious. Now, let all who are willing to 
help in this way hold up their hands." 

Every hand in school was raised. 

" It is a vote ! " said the new master, with a smile that seemed to light up 
the whole school like sunshine. " All agreed ! Now we have no time to 
waste in words ; only a part of the winter is left us, and we must make the 
most of it." 

So the school began. It was not until an hour later that a needful word 
was said about discipline. The new teacher could not break up old habits 
in his pupils and bring order out of chaos in a minute. Suddenly he rapped 
with his ruler. 

" Some of you, I see, are forgetting our agreement. This won't do. I am 
here to teach you ; but, to do that, I must have order. It is a shameful 
thing to both teacher and pupils if he is obliged to threaten and whip them 
as if they were dumb beasts that could not listen to reason ; and if anything 
of that kind is necessary this winter, it will not be my fault. But, as I 
said, we are going to have order in this school-room, whatever else happens. 
I know you all agree with me that that is right If any think differently, let 
them hold up their hands. Not a hand ! Very well ! now we understand 
what must be." 

This was spoken in so resolute a manner that even those who were not 
governed altogether by reason felt their rude natures touched by the deter- 
mined spirit of the new master. He had little trouble after that. There 
were two or three unruly boys whose offences required prompt and summary 
treatment, and that they got ; but in every case of the kind the public opin- 
ion of the school was on the teacher's side. 

Sometimes at noon Percy would go out and join in the big boys 1 sports. 
He went so far one day as to offer to wrestle with Jerry Mason, who had 
thrown every one he had taken hold of, — •' Provided," said Percy, in his 
pleasant way, " you Ml agree not to give me a hard fall." So the master and 
the champion wrestler took hold of each other, while a ring of interested 
spectators looked on, expecting to see " Jerry fling the master," for Jerry 
was the larger of the two. 

But Jerry put forth his strength in vain. Percy, lithe, athletic, alert, stuck 
to the ground as if his feet had been magnets on a floor of steel. Jerry lifted, 
and tripped, and tried all his favorite locks and turns, until at last Percy 
said, laughingly, " Now I 'll shovr you a trick ; look out for yourself ! " And 
the next moment Jerry was laid flat on his back, without knowing precisely 
how he came there. 



1873] Doing his Best. 325 

Jack was almost beside himself with joy at this result ; and, indeed, all 
who witnessed it were greatly excited and pleased, with the single exception, 
perhaps, of Phineas Chatford. 

" Huh ! " sneered that envious youngster, " I don't see why you should all 
make so much of the master for that little thing ! He never 'd have dared 
to wrastle with one of his big boys if he had n't known he could fling htm." 

Notwithstanding his familiarity with the scholars, Percy never lost their 
respect. Heartily as he entered into their games, the moment school was 
called his whole manner showed them that the hour of sport was over, and 
serious business begun. 

His manner of teaching was no less admirable than his style of discipline. 
Jack was a favorite pupil, and the progress he made was so rapid that be- 
fore the winter was over he was in advance of Phineas in all their studies ; 
which circumstance served greatly to imbitter Phin against his rival 

" It 's your own fault," said Moses one day, when Phin was charging it all 
to the master's partiality. " Jack goes into things in earnest ; he is doing 
his best, while you shirk hard work, and just do what you think will make 
a good show. Talk about ciphering Jack's legs off 1 I told you, the first 
day of school, just how it would be." 

" I don't care ! " muttered Phin. " I couldh&vt kept ahead of him if I had 
tried. But I ain't going to get my living by hard work, — so that phrenolo- 
gist said, and, abuse him as much as you 've a mind to, he knew what he was 
talking about. I 've got talents ; I shall rise in the world without going 
crazy over cube root and syntax." 

" The best thing you can do is to forget what that humbug told you," said 
Moses. " It 's making a fool of you." 

" Humbug ! " retorted Phin ; " I asked the master if there was anything 
in phrenology, and he said there was." 

" I heard just what he said," replied Moses. " l There 's something in it, 
no doubt,' says he, * but as a science it is still in its infancy, and it is n't safe 
to rely too much upon it.' Anyhow," added Moses, " even if it was the 
most perfect science in the world, that would n't make your great Dr. Doy- 
ley anything but a quack and a knave." 

" I don't see what he has done so much out of the way," retorted Phin- 
eas. " He explained everything, or said he could explain ; and I liked him 1 " 

The two brothers had frequent arguments regarding the merits of the said 
Doyley, which usually ended in this way, much to the disgust of Moses. 

Jack worked hard about the farm-yard and woodshed before and after 
school, and towards the last of the term a new affair began to occupy his 
time on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE BOYS GO INTO BUSINESS. 

One day Mr. Treadwell, the father of Step Hen, driving by the school- 
house at the time of the boys' recess,, stopped, and beckoned to Jack. He 



326 Doing his Best. . [June, 

was an eccentric old man ; all his ways were what the country folks termed 
"odd." He had his nickname as well as his son. At a public school- 
meeting he was once nominated for the office of trustee ; but, thinking it 
would be better filled by some person living nearer the centre of the district, 
he arose, and declined the honor in these words: "1 must beg to be 
excused, / live so scattering / " He was " Old Scattering " ever afterwards. 

This was the man who stood up in his sleigh and beckoned violently, 
screaming, " You, sir ! you Hazard boy ! come here ! " Jack ran up to him, 
thinking something dreadful was the matter ; but his mind was soon put to 
rest by the old man saying, " I want to shake hands with you ! " (he put out 
a thick leather mitten,) " and thank you for your dutiful behavior to my son ! 
You 've been a friend to my Stephen, and I thank you ! " 

The old man's voice choked, and tears of emotion filled his eyes. Jack 
at the same time observed that his eyes were very red, his nose unnaturally 
large and spongy, and his cheeks full of inflamed little veins. The truth is, 
Old Scattering was accustomed to drink rather too much bard cider. 

" Stephen is a good little fellow," replied Jack, " and he seems to be get- 
ting along very well lately." 

" All owing to you, — your noble conduct I " the old man declared. " I 
wish I could recompensate you. I tell ye what I '11 do, — you shall come 
over and eat supper with us some time, and spend the night with Stephen, 
and I '11 make the old woman fry some of her prime doughnuts ! " 

Jack laughingly replied that he did n't want any reward, though he had 
no doubt he should enjoy the visit and the doughnuts. . " But there 's one 
thing I 've been wishing to speak to* you about," he said. 

" Name it, and I am your debtor ! " 

" It is only this. Aunt Patsy has some sugar-maples which she says I 
may tap this spring, if I like, and will give her a share of the sugar. I 've 
talked with Moses Chatford about it, and he would like to go in with me, 
and his folks are willing, and there 's only one thing in the way, — we 've no 
sap-buckets. Stephen says you have some in your shed which you have n't 
used for a year or two ; and I thought — " 

" You thought right ! " interrupted the old man emphatically. " Most 
happy! The buckets are yours. And, moreover, my woods jine Aunt 
Patsy's on t' other side. I 've some prime maples ; and there 's an old hut, 
and an arch for b'ilin', — all at your sarvice ! " 

11 That will be grand ! " cried Jack. 

" Most happy ! " repeated the old man, once more offering Jack the thick 
mitten to shake. " Only my old woman '11 expect a share of the sugar, — 
whatever Mr. Chatford says will be right ; for we all know the deacon. At 
your sarvice ; and most happy ! " 

Jack carried the good news to Moses, and the two consulted Mr. Chatford 
about the matter that evening. 

"Well, I don't know," said the cautious deacon ; "a couple of boys, — 1 
don't suppose you can do much. But try it if you like ; there '11 be a chance 
for you to learn something, any way." 



1873] Doing his Best 327 

" Now, see here ! " Phineas protested ; "if Jack and Moses are going into 
sugar-making, I am too 1 " 

" I don't suppose they will object, provided you do your share of the 
work," said bis father. 

" But you know he won't," said Moses. " He '11 just pretend to, and then 
shirk. I know him too well ! " 

Phin appeared to feel greatly outraged at this view taken of his character, 
and said so much that finally, at Jack's request, be was taken into the 
'* company." 

And now the boys were full of business. Every Wednesday and Saturday 
afternoon found them in Mr. TreadwelTs loft repairing the old sap-buckets 
and " spiles " (wooden spouts for taking the sap from the trees), whittling 
new spiles, and making other preparations for the sugar season. As Moses 
had expected, he and Jack were left to do about all the work, while the third 
partner sat byr pottering a little at one thing and then another, as he soon 
tired of each, and filling up the time with talk. 

The buckets ready, the boys went to the woods, where the snow, dotted 
here and there with squirrels' and rabbits' tracks, still covered the ground, 
and had plenty to do putting Che stone arch and old hut in repair, and clean- 
ing out a huge sap-trough, to be used as a reservoir for the precious fluid 
when it was brought to the camp. Then the mild days came, when the sap 
began to mount vigorously in the great trunks, and it was time for these to 
be tapped. 

Jack was sorry to be obliged to leave school a few days before the term 
closed ; but he resolved to make up for the loss by studying all the harder 
at "odd spells " during the spring and summer. And now he plunged with 
all the ardor of his young heart into the business he had undertaken. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE SUGAR-BUSH. 

Deacon Chatford and Mr. Pipkin went over and helped the boys tap 
the trees. It was a beautiful day ; the stillness of the woods was broken 
only by the chattering of a squirrel or two, and the tinkling snap of the ice 
on the high limbs as, touched by the morning sun, it came rattling to the 
ground. Then followed the sounds of cheery voices and ringing axes, and 
the day's work was begun. 

It was a new business to Jack ; and the wild beauty of the leafless woods, 
the delight of youthful spirits in a novel enterprise, and the hope of honest 
gain, made him very happy. He was quick to learn ; and in an hour or 
two he knew all that even the wise Mr. Pipkin knew about tapping 
trees. 

Just a slanting gash was made in the trunk with an axe ; below the lower 
corner of this a spile was driven into a curved cut made for it by a gouge, and 
under the spile, which formed a sloping channel for the sap, a bucket was 



3^8 



Doing his Best. 



[June, 



set. Some of the largest of the maples were tapped in three or four places. 
After the sun had got well up, the sap almost spirted from the trees at the 
first cut, and made a merry drumming as it dropped upon the bottoms of 
the empty buckets. These had been soaking in rain-water for a few days, 
and scarcely any of them leaked. All the pails and pans and bowls which 
could be spared from the house were also put to use ; and to these were 
afterwards added a number of sap-troughs that Mr. Pipkin hollowed with an 
axe out of short, thick slabs, into which the trunks of two or three small 
basswoods were cut up. 

The great kettles for the arch were brought down from Mr. TreadwelPs 
house on a stone-boat, or drag, drawn by one horse ; and in the afternoon 
the horse and drag were used in collecting the sap. Jack and Phineas went 
the rounds of the sugar-bush with a couple of upright, open casks ; into 
these the sap from the buckets was emptied, until they were as full as they 
could safely ride without slopping over as they were drawn to the camp. 
Phin drove the horse, and stopped at the trees, while Jack emptied the 
buckets, some of which were found brimming full, — a glorious sight to 
Jack's eyes. Moses, in the mean time, with a boy's impatience, got a good 
fire under the kettles, within the stone-work of the arch, and before night the 




Gathering the Sap. 



1 873.] Doing his Best 329 

pleasant odor of the steam from the boiling sap was wafted through the 
woods. 

Phin soon complained of a sprained ankle, and thought he could not 
drive the horse any more. So he went and sat down before the fire, while 
Step Hen Treadwell, who ran to the woods as soon as he was out of school, 
gladly helped Jack in his place. 

The fire had now to be kept going and the kettles boiling by day, and often 
by night, as long as there was sap. The boys had accordingly brought their , 
supper with them, intending to watch the arch until late in the evening and 
then sleep in the hut Jack and Moses were tired enough when night 
came, — tired and hungry; and O, how good the bread and butter and 
boiled eggs tasted 1 and how sweet the rest from their labors, as they sat in 
the door of the hut, before the glowing mouth of the arch, and talked over 
the day's doings and the prospects of the morrow ! 

The sap stopped running at night, to begin again the next morning, first a 
few slow, trickling drops, and then a lively pattering which it did Jack's 
heart good to hear. The forenoon was spent in tapping Aunt Patsy's trees, 
finishing the new sap-troughs, chopping wood for the fire, and gathering, 
without the aid of the horse and drag, the sap in the buckets nearest the 
camp. Phin rendered very little assistance. If left to tend the kettles, he 
either let them boil over, or neglected to keep them supplied with sap, or 
suffered the fire to go down ; while he could usually be seen sitting on a log, 
holding a dipper of steaming sirup, which he was complacently cooling and 
sipping. 

The sap stored in the great trough was dipped from that into the first, or 
heating kettle, from that into the second, or boiling kettle, and lastly into the 
third, or sweet kettle, where many gallons of sap were concentrated into a 
single gallon of sirup. This was finally taken, a few gallons at a time, to 
Mr. Chatford's house, to be strained, and then boiled down still further and 
carefully! "sugared off" by Mrs. Chatford over the kitchen fire. 

It chanced to be a capital sugar season ; and there was so much work to 
be done, and Phin did so little, that the two active partners had to " borrow " 
Mr. Pipkin much of the time, in order to keep the sap boiling and the 
buckets from overflowing. 

" Jest as I knowed 'twould be," said that gentleman, with a chuckle of 
satisfaction. "You're a couple o* perty smart boys, — got good grit, I 
allow ; but ye could n't git along without me ! " 

" O, you 're mighty grand ! n sneered Phineas ; "just about the smartest 
man in the world, — Mr. P. Pipkin, Esquire ! n 

Mr. Pipkin, who stood on a log which he was chopping, paused, stooping, 
and looked contemptuously over his big front teeth at Master Chatford. 

" As for that 'ere Phin," said he, " if he 's worked enough in this sugar- 
bush to 'arn the sirup he 's drinked, I miss my guess 1 Talk about his bein' 
a pardner in the business, by hokey ! It 's like a farmer takin' a fox into 
pardnerships a raisin' chickens 1 There 's reason in all things ! " And, 
striking the axe into the log again, he made the lively chips fly at Phin's 
head. 



33© Doing his Best [June, 

The boys had a good many visitors at the camp, — men who were inter- 
ested to see " how they were getting along with their job," and young fellows 
who came for a taste of the sirup, or to sit and tell stories in the evening 
before the fire. Three or four of the " Huswick tribe " came prowling about, 
making friendly advances to Jack, and helping themselves rather too freely 
to the contents of the sweet kettle. Phin was afraid of them ; and Moses 
said he did not like to get their ill-will by driving them away. But Jack, 
who had particular reasons for not being charmed by their society,* vowed 
at last that he would have no more of it 

So one day, when the lank and long-armed Hank approached, and, with a 
wink and a grin, taking down the dipper from its nail, reached it over into 
the sweet kettle, while behind him stood Cub, short and fat, awaiting his 
turn, and still behind him Tug and Hod, Jack spoke out 

" See here ! that dipper is travelling back and forth altogether too often 
between that kettle and your mouths ! " 

"It's lickin' good!" said Hank, smacking his lips. "Don't be mean 
about a little sirup." 

" Mean ? " retorted Jack. " We don't tap trees, and chop wood, and boil 
sap, to treat all the loafers in town." He sprang and snatched the dipper. 
" Now go about your business, will you ? You 're not wanted here." 

Hank stared, and Cub looked fierce ; but Jack quietly laid the dipper on 
the end of the great sap-trough, and said to Lion, " Watch ! take care of it ! " 
— which command Lion, who cherished a cordial grudge against the Hus- 
wick tribe, was ready enough to obey. 

" Lucky for you ye 've got a dog to back ye up ! " said Cub, as he followed 
his retreating brother through the woods. 

" Yes, watch-dogs are useful when such fellows as you are about ! " Jack 
hallooed after him. 

It was Lion's business after that to guard the sweet kettle ; and, as he 
was a constant companion of the boys at the camp, they had no more trouble 
from unwelcome visitors. 

" I van," said Mr. Pipkin one day, after Lion, in the absence of Jack, had 
baffled all the attempts of Lon Gannett and Rant Hildreth to steal a dipper- 
ful of sirup, " the dog ought to be the third pardner in this consarn, — he 's 
wuth a plaguy sight more 'n that 'ere lazy Phin ! " 

At the close of the season the boys gave a famous sugar-party in the 
woods, to which their friends were invited. It was a mild March evening, 
and the woods were beautiful, lit up by a blazing bonfire. The " sugaring 
off" was a success ; and, fortunately, there was still snow enough to be found 
to drop the golden wax on, hot from the ladle. The merry guests, gathered 
in a noisy group about the kettle placed on the ground, scraped it clean with 
knives and sticks and spoons ; and afterwards played " I spy " among the 
shadowy trunks in the firelit woods, which resounded with their joyous 
voices. 

After paying for Mr. Pipkin's services by giving Mrs. Chatford a portion 

* See "A Chance for Himself.'* 



i«73] Doing his Best. 331 

of the sugar, and allotting to Mrs. Treadwell and Aunt Patsy their shares, 
previously agreed upon, the boys sold what was left, and found that they 
had cleared twenty-seven dollars by the operation. 

" Well, well ! I do declare ! " said the deacon ; " I 'd no idea of your 
making so handsome a thing ! For two boys, it 's really very well." 

" Three boys ! " snarled Phineas, vexed at being left out of the account 

" And a dog," laughed Jack ; " don't forget Lion." 

" And a man o' judgment and backbone to look arter 'em and lend a help- 
in' hand," said Mr. Pipkin. 

" Now about dividing this money," said Moses. " Though I 'm older 
than Jack, he has worked just as hard as I have, and is entitled to as much 
as I am. But you saw how Phin worked, father ; and now I 'm going to let 
you divide it" 

" I was a partner, and I claim an equal share with the other two ! " cried 
Phin, with great vehemence. 

" They 'd be better off this minute if Phin had kep' out o' the sugar-bush 
altogether," said Mr. Pipkin. " A lazy back and a sweet tooth hender 
more 'n they help, about the kittles." 

Mr. Chatford took Moses and Jack aside. " I know he did n't do very 
well," he said, coaxingly, "but I want to encourage the boy ; it will be a great 
disappointment to him if he don't have a share. So, if you 've no objections, 
I '11 divide the money in this way : you two shall have eleven dollars apiece, 
and Phineas shall have the other five. 'T ain't hardly fair, I know ; but you 
sha' n't lose by it in the end." 

Moses said it was " outrageous " ; but Jack declared himself satisfied. 
" Although," said he, " I don't believe Phin will be." 

Indeed, Phin was at first furious over the small share given to him ; but, 
finding that it was all he could have, he finally put it in his pocket, vowing 
at the same time that he would come up with Jack and Moses in some way. 

" And now, father," said Moses, " Jack has another idea, — a bigger 
scheme than this, — which I believe we can make something out of, if you 
will let us, and if we can keep clear of third partners ; we have had enough 
of them." 

" Say nothing more about that ! " replied the deacon, indulgently, with a 
wink and nod. " What 's your scheme ? Something to make your fortunes, 
I suppose ! " 

" Of course," said Moses, laughing ; and he proceeded to explain. 

7. T. Trowbridge. 



332 Butterfly Blue and Grasshopper Yellow. [June, 



BUTTERFLY BLUE AND GRASSHOPPER YELLOW. 

BUTTERFLY BLUE, and Grasshopper Yellow, 
A gay little fop, and a spruce little fellow 1 

A sauntering pair 

In the soft summer air, 
With nothing to do, either ancient or new, 
But to bask in the sunshine, or pleasure pursue, 
Or fatten on honey, or tipple on dew; 

And constantly, when 

They're through with it, then 
To bask, and to eat, and to tipple again ! 

Butterfly Blue and Grasshopper Yellow, 
The gay young sprig and the jaunty young fellow ! 
They're always arrayed in the top of the fashion, 
For Butterfly Blue for dress has a passion ; 

And Grasshopper Yellow, 

The fast little fellow, 
His very long whiskers and legs cuts a dash on ! 

And so, as they go, 

They make a fine show, 
And each thinks himself the most exquisite beau 1 

Is there any one here like Butterfly Blue ? 
Not you, little Laura, nor you, little Sue ! 
Is there any one here like Grasshopper Yellow ? 
It could n't be Jack, the nice little fellow ! 

And yet I have heard — 

I give you my word — 
That somewhere are little folks quite as absurd ! 
Who gaze at their clothes with admiring eyes, 
And would rather be showy than useful and wise; 
Who love to be idle, and never will think 
Of anything else but to eat and to drink 1 

Not you, dears, O no! 

It couldn't be so, 
This moral to some other country must go, 
' For all of our children are splendid, we know ! 

OHve A. Wadsworth. 



1 873] The Story of a Sky-Stone. 333 



THE STORY OF A SKY-STONE. 

OUR friend and fellow-yachter, Mr. G. W. Burleigh (Wash), is greatly 
interested in the subject of comets, meteors, and aerolites, — particular- 
ly the latter. Whenever he hears of the fall of one of these bodies, or reads 
an account of one in the papers, that account is forthwith clipped ; and often, 
too, he takes the trouble to write half a dozen letters for " further details," 
every item of which is carefully treasured. 

Nor does information alone content him. During our yacht cruises off 
and on for the last year or two, he has been making a collection of meteoric 
stones. At present, this collection is not very extensive, embracing, in fact, 
but seventeen specimens all told ; and some of these are rather doubtful, 
though Wash does n't think so. If any of us want to rouse his temper, we 
have only to saunter casually along, take up one of these " sky-stones," and 
remark, " That 's no more a meteorite, Wash, than my old boot ! " Then 
there is lively talk for the next fifteen minutes. The whole ground has to be 
gone over thoroughly, and nothing less than abject acquiescence on our 
part ever puts an end to the dispute. 

This is particularly the case when we refer to the " big one " down in the 
bottom of the cabinet, partly because there are grounds for doubting its celes- 
tial origin, and partly, too, because it is Wash's especial pride, — the " grand- 
mother " of the whole family. 




Its weight is a few ounces over three hundred and seventeen (317) pounds. 
On the outside it is covered with a thin black rind, but the inside 
is of a steely-gray color. The mass is highly magnetic, as we came near 
learning to our cost when first we got it on board the yacht ; for we had 
placed it on deck at no great distance from the binnacle. 



334 7** Story cf a Sky-Stone. [June, 

We have had a fragment of this stone analyzed, and were given the fol- 
lowing statement of assay : — 

Iron 91.0 parts 

Nickel 7.1 " 

Cobalt .6 " 

Copper and Tin 3 " 

Manganese .2 " 

Sulphur traces 

Chrome Iron " 

Silica 8 parts 

100 

It has a " history " which may not be uninteresting. 

We first learned of its existence while lying in Wager Inlet (during our 
second yacht cruise north): One day several of the Huskies (Esquimaux) 
came off to us in their kayaks, and we noticed that one of their bone lances 
was tipped with some dark substance which I at first took for iron ; for it 
was very rusty. 

" Oomiak-sook ? " said Wash, inquiringly, pointing to it and then off to 
sea, meaning to ask whether he had got the iron from some ship ; for that is 
their word for ship. 

The man, who was a fat-faced, rollicking fellow, understood immediately, 
but, somewhat to our surprise, replied, "Na-roickl Na-mick!" (no ? no!) 
pointing off inland. 

" Possible they 've got an iron mine ? " Wade queried. 

This did not seem likely. 

" That may be a bit of meteoric iron," Raed remarked, examining the 
lance-point. 

This hint at once set Wash off into a fever of curiosity. He got the sav- 
age aside, and I saw him pointing to the lance, then off inland, with many 
repetitions of the question, " Where is this?" (Kinat) and "Aunay da- 
bik?" (Is this far off?) 

The savage, who judged these queries mainly by the gestures and signs 
which accompanied them, answered alternately Abb (yes) and Na-mick. So . 
that in the end Wash was left in great uncertainty as to whether the place 
was one or fifty miles away, the Esquimau idea of linear measurement be- 
ing of the most primitive sort 

But he was ready to chymo (trade). Wash bought the lance of him 
for a steel (?) butcher-knife, and also obtained two bone knives, or 
rather chisels, of the others, both of which were tipped with the same 
rusty, stony substance. They were about a foot in length. The metallic 
tip was secured to the bone with a bone rivet I enclose a drawing of 
them. 

Naught to do but that we must set off to hunt up this meteorite ! Wash 
talked of nothing else all that day and evening. The rest of us did not much 




1873.] The Story of a Sty-Stone. 335 

incline to such a wild-goose chase: the sea- 
son was passing, and we wanted to be getting 
out of the Straits. But as nothing less would 
answer, an " expedition " was started — we 
four young gentlemen with our skipper and 
two of the sailors — the next forenoon. The services of the savage with the 
lance were secured, for a consideration (a piece of pine plank and a small bar 
of iron), to be our guide. We set off across the headland, over ledgy ridges 
of hoary, lichen-clad sienite, and after a tramp of three hours and a half 
descended into a gorge — one of those singular hollows such as one only 
sees in these frozen regions — shut in by ice-capped ridges, its sides wet with 
trickling waters and frightfully green with a surfeit of unhealthy mosses. 

Here were half a dozen Husky huts ; it was one of their summer resorts. 
Our savage of the lance led the way, calling out to us, " Savasevik na-aunay ! " 
meaning that the iron-stone was near. A score of the Esquimaux from the 
huts followed wonderingly after us, with their ever-repeated whine of " Pilli- 
tay ! pillitay ! " (give us something !) 

About a quarter of a mile lower down, we came to it. Wash had run 
ahead, and was on his knees examining it when we came up. The sight of 
his extravagantly tickled face was enough to dispel all the fatigue of our tramp. 

" Almost just such a one as fell at i£gos Potamos ! " he exclaimed, slap- 
ping his leg and jumping up to execute a double shuffle. " Plutarch's de- 
scription might be applied to this, every word of it ! That was a dark, fire- 
smitten stone, equal to a wagon-load, and so 's this ! " (Trying to turn it 
over.) " I can't even lift one end of it ! " 

" But this is not embedded in the ground ! " Raed objected. 

"Don't care. Huskies have probably dug this out. See how they've 
chipped it, and trodden the earth hard all about ! " 

" But where 's the proof that this is truly a meteorite ? " Wade coolly in- 
quired. 

You should have seen the indignant lightnings dart from Wash's outraged 
optics. 

" Proof! " he exclaimed. " Why, can't you see the black nWwhich is the 
unmistakable characteristic of a meteoric stone ? And look here ! " — catch- 
ing up a tiny chip of it which lay near. " See how that will cling to the side 
of it ! Strongly magnetic ! Sure indication ! And look round ! Is there 
another stone that bears the least resemblance to this in this whole locality ? " 

Wade subsided, though not without an aggravating grin. 

" Humph ! " ejaculated Wash, following him with a glance of utter con- 
tempt. Then to Raed : " Here, help me turn this over. I must have this if — " 

A movement and murmur of disapproval from the savages made him pause. 
They did not like to see us making so free with the stone. 

"Na! na!" grumbled one hideous-faced old Husky, shaking his lance 
with a menacing gesture. " Na ba-mook dak mai ik Savasevik " (not take 
the good iron-stone). At which they all cried out " Na-mick ! n and " Neg- 
ga-mai I " (not right). 



33^ The Story of a Sky-Stone. [June, 

" They won't let you have it ! " laughed the skipper. 

" I will have it ! " Wash exclaimed, looking around. 

Then he began to shout " Chymo ! " pointing off in the direction we had 
come. The savages observed him in silence. 

" I must have this," Wash continued, turning to us in some perplexity. 

" But how could we ever get it to the yacht ? " Raed said. " It 's a fear- 
fully heavy mass! How could we ever carry this thirteen miles? — over 
crags and ridges, too!" 

" But I must have it," Wash interrupted, in real distress. " I would n't 
miss of this for — for anything — for a thousand dollars ! " 

The sailors and the skipper began to laugh ; but we knew Wash too well 
to be much astonished. We surmised, too, that it would be like pulling eye- 
teeth to get him away without it. 

" Well, if you can devise any way for removing it that will be in any wise 
practicable, why, of course, we will assist," Raed observed. 

Wash looked around in sore trouble. 

"It's a good ten miles over to where the schooner lies," the skipper re- 
marked. 

" Perhaps the sea makes up nearer at some point," Wade suggested, at 
length. 

Raed then went off, and climbed part way up the side of the ravine. 

"It does!" he shouted. "This hollow leads out to the inlet on the 
lower side of the headland. I can see the water." 

" How far ? " Wash demanded. 

" Well, for a guess, four miles — all descending." 

" Hurrah ! I '11 pack it on one of their dog-sledges 1 " 

" But the yacht must be taken round," said Wade. 

So we sent the skipper, with the sailors, back over the ridge, with orders 
to take the schooner round the next forenoon, and then come up the gorge 
with a quantity of bar-iron, knives, etc., — such articles as we had provided 
for trade. We did not deem it prudent to undertake the removal of the stone 
till the presents were on the ground. 

Meanwhile we prepared to pass the night as comfortably as we could. We 
had brought along a small shelter-tent, with a bag of ship-bread and a coffee- 
pot well charged ; and we now set up the tent near the stone, so that Wash 
might have the satisfaction of sitting on it while at supper. Probably this 
circumstance inspired him ; for he discoursed to us at length on the proba- 
bility which the fall of such masses as this gave his theory. ' 

That night is indelibly fixed in my memory, not so much from Wash's 
discourses as from a horrid deed of the Huskies, a description of which 
Raed reserves for his narrative of our voyage. It was the unnatural murder 
of an aged savage by his own sons ; not out of any malice, but simply 
because he was too decrepit to be of further use to his family ! You will 
gain some idea of the low social condition of this people when I inform you 
that this is no uncommon practice with them. 

From the top of the crags we espied the yacht coming round the point at 



1873] 



The Story of a Sky-Stone. 



337 



a little after nine next morning ; but the skipper did not make his appear- 
ance till nearly twelve. Three of the sailors came up with him. They 
brought half a dozen of the long iron bars tied up in a bundle, together with 
ten or twelve of our (cast-iron) butcher-knives, several of the hatchets, and a 
roll of red flannel. 

The Huskies soon gathered round. Wash pointed to the stone, and said 
" Chymo " to them, then began a general distribution of the presents. The 
articles were certainly worth as much as the stone, from a commercial point 
of view. But if — as Raed conjectured — they regarded the aerolite as an 
object of worship, the case might be susceptive of another view. We could 
not learn, however, that they had any traditions concerning it, a fact which 
clearly troubled Wash ; and they offered no further resistance when we 
began to remove it 

By the aid of the Esquimau who had acted as our guide, we hired one of 
their bone sledges and a half-dozen of the savages to draw it We did not, 
of course, think of attaching one of their harum-scarum dog-teams to it. 
But, as a matter of feet, we found the man-team quite as bad ; for they had 
no judgment about racing over stony places ; and the bed of the ravine offered 
us rough sledding. Soon as ever the stone was loaded on and the word 
given, they set up wild cries of " Ka ! ka ! ka ! " Others cried, " Eigh ! 
eigh ! eigh ! " Off went the sled, bumperty-bump / We had all we could 
do to keep up for the first eight or ten rods ; then came a fair capsize, which 
took fifteen minutes to rectify. 

On again ; Wade, Raed, and the skipper making frantic attempts to head 




VOL. DC— NO. VI. 



A Lively Team. 
22 



338 How a Girl helped. [June, 

them off and tone down the speed, — all in vain. Bump-thump/ whoops 
and yells ! They grew excited, and ran headlong over holes and bowlders. 
Then came a square smash-up ! which delayed us an hour to patch up. 

" Eigh ! eigh ! ka ! ka ! " and on again ; Wash following distractedly after 
the sledge, with arms stuck out from right to left to keep it from overturning, 
his face a picture of excited anxiety. The rest of us ran abreast of the team, 
wildly brandishing our muskets, and all shouting, with an uproar fit to shame 
bedlam. 

It would be useless to recall the number of overturnings and breakdowns 
which only vast patience remedied It was dusk before we came out to the 
sea, and had got rid of our team. The stone had to be left on the beach all 
night, for the yacht could not be brought very near the shore rocks. Poor 
Wash scarcely slept three winks, so uneasy was he lest the Huskies should 
steal it back again before morning. If I heard him going up the companion 
stairs once that night, I did a dozen times, to look off to see if the coast was 
clear. 

The next morning we got it into the boat, brought it alongside, and hoisted 
it on deck, — but not without a deal of hard lifting and finger-jamming. 

" There ! " exclaimed Wade, when it was finally aboard, " I 'U be blamed 
if ever I go on another meteor hunt ! " 

But he did, not a fortnight afterwards. 

C. A. Stephens. 



--**fc*^etffcMc»- 



HOW A GIRL HELPED. 

u T DO hope they '11 let me in," said Champ, rather doubtfully, as her moth- 

■*■ er and she leaned over the railings of their favorite fountain in the pub- 
lic gardens of Genoa, — the pretty one, where the frogs are all day long sung 
to sleep by the lullaby of the plashing water. " What do you think about it, 
Mum?" 

There was closer companionship between them than between most moth- 
ers and daughters. 

" You must be prepared for the worst, Champ, dear," answered " Mum." 
" Italy is n't America, you know, and it must be rather an unprecedented 
thing with our darling Italians to have their institutions assailed by any one 
of the ' fair sect ' crying out for knowledge. But let us hope for the best" 

There was always a kind of consolation about Mum's sweet blue eyes and 
tender voice, even when she suggested the most unpleasant possibilities ; 
and so, by the time they reached the end of Acquasola Walk, Champ 
had concluded that, disappointment or no disappointment, there certainly 
were unhappier girls in the world than herself. How could she be unhappy, 
indeed, when the blue Bay of Genoa was sparkling and dancing at her feet, 



i873»] H™ * Girt helped. 339 

when the joyous bells of the Carignano church were ringing out on the 
morning air, when flower scents stole up from the silent city below, when 
the great dark mountains* behind were dimpling into sunshine, and the glory 
of an Italian sky crowned the whole ? 

44 To think of spending two delightful months in this lovely place ! " said 
Champ, drawing a long breath of happiness. 

' Do you wonder why she was so happy? Then listen. Her kind old 
Italian master had that morning told her that, knowing how earnestly she 
desired to enter the School of Fine Arts, he had spoken to a famous artist 
of the little Americana; and he, being a good sort of man, though an artist 
and an Italian, had in his turn spoken to Monsieur le Directeur and Monsieur 
PInspecteur and Messieurs le Comiti about the young stranger who prayed 
admission to their art-school; and they, with Italian amiability, had con- 
sented to grant her an interview that very day, wherein to test the genuine- 
ness of her interest. Do you marvel now that Champ was very happy ? For 
here had come to her of its own free will the very opportunity she longed 
for to draw out the latent eagerness of art that had been stirring in her ever 
since she first entered beautiful Italy. 

44 But," had said the white-haired teacher, laughing, when he gave the 
good news, " there is one grave objection. This is a school for young gen- 
tlemen only. There is not a young lady in the Academy. Young ladies in 
Italy, especially in Genoa, seldom attend public institutions." 

44 O, I don't mind that in the least," said Champ, true to her American 
principles. " I like boys. They 're every bit as good as girls, and have 
fully as much brains." 

44 Yes, but it is not the custom in Italy for young ladies and young gentle- 
men to go to school together ; and if the Signorina should attend the Acad- 
emy, it will be better that her mother — la Signora — should always accom- 
pany her," added he, looking appealingly at Mum." 

Mum smiled, and she promised to do anything that should be required of 
her to preserve Italian conventionalities intact 

" What a stupid idea that is, though, Mum," said Champ, as they were on 
their way to the Academy that afternoon, " of making you go there to sit so 
long with me ! Just as if I were n't big enough to take care of myself ! I 'm 
afraid this is going to be a dreadful bore to you." 

44 Don't count your chickens yet awhile, Champ, dear," cautioned her 
mother. 4< I don't think, though, it will be such a bore, after all. I can take 
my Italian lesson and my books, and improve my shining hours as well as 
yourself." 

With this they passed into the arcade of the Carlo Felice Piazza and en- 
tered a great hall-way, where stood an old Roman sarcophagus, used as a 
dust-bin. They climbed two flights of broad stairs, the walls at whose sides 
bore witness to the presence of boys, — and bad boys, too, if the perversion of 
their talents to the base caricaturing of worthy professors might be taken as 
an indication of character. At the top of the stairs they found the old custode 
sweeping out, it being after hours. Mum inquired for M. le Directeur, where- 



340 How a Girl helped. [June, 

upon he pulled off his knitted cap with a low reverence, and went off to look 
for his chief, after giving them seats in an adjoining room. They looked 
about, and having discovered that the walls were hung with pictures, that 
the room itself was fitted up with desks and drawing-models, and that in a 
niche reaching to the ceiling stood the great plaster cast of the famous Chris- 
topher Columbus monument in the Acquaverde Garden, they looked at each 
other. 

" Well, * Truthful, how goes it ? * " asked Mum, seeing Champ's eyes open 
wider and wider, and her nose wrinkle itself from very anxiety. 

" I was thinking," answered Champ, meditatively, — "I was thinking that 
I shall propose to M. le Directeur, if he is n't too much of a dragon, to let me 
learn to do modelling like that in the corner. It looks very easy. I know 
drawing enough for present purposes, and painting must be an expensive 
luxury even in a free institution. So I think I should like to try this." 

By and by M. le Directeur made his appearance, and really he was n't so 
much of a dragon, after all, but, on the whole, a rather agreeable sort of per- 
son. To be sure he demurred a little, as was undoubtedly proper, at the 
idea of a young lady entering an institution to receive from the same teach- 
ers the same instruction as was given to young gentlemen of the same men- 
tal capacity. But her nationality, he said, might account for her desire to com- 
mit such an impropriety. He also remarked that, as an experiment, it might 
be worth something to admit her. In fact, the good man had already made up 
his mind to accept this new pupil, if only for the sake of. the initiative ; for 
he was an uncommonly progressive Italian, and loved King Victor with his 
whole heart But the force of habit compelled him to hesitate yet a little 
longer on the score of conventionality, in order to give due effect to his final 
consent It was true, he said, that there had been in the institution at one 
time a Venetian demoiselle, and at another a jeune Anglaise, but they only 
came during the day to copy pictures, and " you see, ladies, the Italian cus- 
toms are so different from the American, that — that — in short" — and the 
worthy director ended by summoning M. l'lnspecteur, a little old artist with a 
benevolent smile and a black velvet cap, and conferring with him for some 
time. He finally announced, as the result of their united opinions, that they 
thought they could make such arrangements as should prevent the Signo- 
rina's being annoyed by the other scholars, that she might come every 
morning from six to eight to receive lessons in modelling, that she might 
come at any time during the day to practise, and that it was necessary 
that the Signora should always accompany her daughter. Champ was so 
excited that she could scarcely thank M. le Directeur for his kindness to her, 
but I think he must have seen how pleased she was by the sparkle in her 
eyes and the flush on her cheeks, for after he had bowed them out he said 
to the little artist by his side, " The Signorina may or may not have talent, 
but I am sure she will work con amoreP 

The next morning there was a good deal of excitement in the Academy, 
for the news had somehow got wind that a new scholar was coming that very 
day, and a girl at that, — actually a girL 



I873-] How a Girl helped. 341 

u I tell you what it is, Carlo," said one boy to another, at work on a tiny 
wax model, " if they are going to admit women here, the Academy might as 
well take fire and burn up. The King himself can't help its going to ruin. 
For my part, I hate these innovations." 

" Perhaps you are right," replied the other, placidly ; " but you forget 
that women sometimes have the same talents as men, and need the same 
opportunities to develop them. I have no objection to sharing, even with 
women, the instruction which the city of Genoa gives me. Indeed, I ought 
to feel more strongly on the subject than you, for it is my teacher who takes 
in charge this new pupil, thereby robbing me of fifteen minutes every day." 

Then there were other boys who went home that morning and told their 
sisters about this dreadful girl who had dared invade their sacred premises ;. 
whereupon, greatly to their disgust, the sisters grumbled, and declared that 
they did n't see why, if this girl were allowed to go there and learn things, 
they should n't be allowed to go there and learn things too. And it was all 
perfectly horrid, and they did so wish they were boys. 

But, withal, now that it is all over, Champ often wonders if it was only the 
natural gentle courtesy of Italy that made those same rough boys, whatever 
their private feelings may have been, treat with such unobtrusive politeness 
the two " lone, lorn women " who passed up the academical stairs every 
day, or if, indeed, there could have been the dawning of a stronger principle 
behind it all 

When, on that never-to-be-forgotten first morning, Champ was shown the 
pretty room that was to be her solitary studio, and saw at the first glance, 
in front of the great window, two easels, one bearing a plaster model, the 
other an upright slate, and in the foreground a large bowl of prepared clay, — 
when she saw all this, and found, too, how kindly these utter strangers had 
arranged everything for her comfort, she would have clapped her hands for 
joy, had she not caught sight of several rows of boyish heads crowded 
together behind the great glass door at the end of the room, whose dark 
southern eyes were earnestly watching all her movements, in the intense 
curiosity of their owners to know what an American Indian could be like. 

" They 've nailed up the keyhole of this other door with the most funereal 
bit of black cloth," said Mum, announcing a discovery. " It 's for the mu- 
tual benefit of you and the boys on the other side, I suppose, Champ." 

" How they do treat people ! " exclaimed Champ. "As if I wanted to 
look at their boys ! " 

By and by in came M. 1'Inspecteur, beaming benevolently upon them, and 
bringing with him a pleasant-looking professor, who forthwith embarked 
Champ upon the broad sea of sculpture by giving her a Roman head to 
copy. 

" There," said she, triumphantly, after the teacher had left her, with some 
kind words of encouragement, " I know I shall succeed in this. I always 
did have a talent for making mud-pies from my youth up. I remember very 
well the day I was whipped and put to bed for making them in my best 
clothes, —don't you, Mum ? " 



342 How a Girl helped. [June, 

Bat don't imagine that it was always plain sailing with Champ. There 
were days when she would have given all her hopes of artistic fame for a lit- 
tle more sleep and a little more slumber ; and days when standing two 
hours before breakfast at her easel made the rest of the morning a martyr- 
dom. Those were the days when she slapped the classic cheeks of her 
inanimate creations, poked their blank staring eyes out, twisted their cor- 
rect noses into unconscionable snubs, and made herself and them generally 
miserable. 

I think, on the whole, though, she had a very happy time in that pretty, 
silent room with the queer old saints and martyrs, stiff-draperied and golden- 
haloed, smiling down upon her from the warm scarlet walls. I think she 
really grew to love those old pictures. It was pleasant to her to feel that 
they watched her work with a sort of loving interest She had a pretty fancy, 
too, that they thought themselves slighted if she left them without a good- 
by. They were as ugly as only those pictures that assisted in the regenera- 
tion of art could be, but they had a kind of quaint earnestness all their own, 
that made them cheerful and encouraging companions in a working mood. 
At least, so Champ thought ; and so she loved them all, from pink-eyed St 
Sebastian, with his angular body stuck full of arrows, to solemn-faced St 
Agnes and her long-headed " little lamb." But for her patron saint Champ 
chose good old Anthony, giving fatherly counsel to his little black pig. 

Statuary there was, too, in this pretty room ; but the best of all, in 
Champ's eyes, was a lovely little figure, that stood behind her easel near the 
window, of a certain small boy who went out and bought a whistle and paid 
very dearly for it Perhaps some of you know him. How glad Champ was 
to meet a little countryman in this far-off land, — to find a real live little 
American boy in the midst of these sleepy old monks and martyrs. Mum 
said one day that she <&/wish she was a rich American instead of a poor 
one, for then she could buy little Ben Franklin, and find a good place for 
him in her native land, where he might be seen by everybody. 

That reminds me of the day when the English lady, followed by a bevy of 
blond daughters, sailed into the room where Champ, on the point of swath- 
ing her Grecian beauty, preparatory to going home, in a piece of a blue cot- 
ton gown, begged by the old custode from his wife for la Stgnerina, was stand- 
ing before her easel with a clayey towel about her neck and her cuffs off She 
marvelled afterwards how she had managed to retain even a tithe of her 
politeness under these trying circumstances. The lady put up her eye-glass 
at Benjamin Franklin, and, without in the least understanding who he was, 
remarked, with the national discernment, " How ve-ery beautiful ! " echoed 
by the daughters. Then, turning to Champ, she asked, in shocking French, 
if she did not find modelling very bad for the hands. Champ's reply in 
unaccented English rather amazed her, and she said she should have 
thought it very nasty work. How Mum laughed as she enjoyed the scene 
from her hiding-place behind little Franklin I She said afterwards that it 
was as good as a play to see Champ trying to sustain the dignity of the 
American nation under such difficulties. 



1873] How a Girl helped. 343 

I wonder i£, among the many happy times that may come to her hereafter, 
Champ will ever lose the memory of that happy Italian springtime ; I think 
not I think she will never forget those pleasant early morning walks in the 
old historic streets of Genoa, nor the faces that made a part of them. I think 
she would forget the very Cathedral itself sooner than the brown, sturdy old 
woman who sold purple and gold plums (such great velvety ones ! ) in front 
of the Andrea Doria Church. When she looks back upon that halcyon 
season, I am sure she will think of it as of one long golden chain of beautiful 
days filled with sunshine and fruit and flowers. She will remember, too, the 
great masses of blush-roses and cape jasmines that used to fall into her 
eager heart and hands. 

When the time came at last for Champ to leave the beautiful country, she 
would have given worlds to make it her fatherland. She went one day to 
M. le Directeur and M. I'lnspecteur to say good by and to thank them for 
all their kindnesses to the little foreigner. 

" Yes, the Signorina has worked very well," said the director, looking as 
if he were really sorry to lose his* protfgJ. "It's a pity she cannot stay 
longer with us." 

" But I shall come back again next year, I hope," said Champ. 

" Ah, that is welL And if the Signorina comes back to us when the 
leaves are felling, she may perhaps find herself not the only signorina here." 

" Are you going to open the school to girls ? " asked Champ, opening her 
gray eyes wide. 

" We must not say too much about it now," answered M. le Directeur, 
smiling significantly at the little inspector by his side. " But if we do, and 
I think we shall, the Signorina will have helped us to make it possible." 

So Champ found that even she, in a strange land, among strange faces, 
had unknowingly done something to move the world on, though ever so 
little way. Perhaps she felt it accordingly, for she went out among the 
brown red-capped women and sweet-scented things in the market-place, 
and bought a bunch of great purple heart's-ease as a last embodiment of all 
these pleasant days, — now doubly significant to her. 

The next morning they took their farewell look of the beautiful blue bay. 
Champ heard a deep sigh come from under her mother's veiL 

" What is it, Mummie dear ? " she asked, sympathizingly. 

" I was only thinking, Champ, how sorry I am to leave our darling Italy, 
perhaps never to see it again." 

" Of course we shall see it again," said Champ, decidedly ; " for when I 
grow up to be a second Harriet Hosmer, and get big orders from Congress 
a la Vinnie Ream, just see if we don't come back and spend the rest of our 
Uvea in Italia la Bella J '" 

Lottie Adams, 



344 Rolfs Leap. [June, 



ROLF'S LEAP. 

« T 1 7HAT, you 're making friends with my old Rolf, are you, boys ? 

V V dear old Rolf! " said Uncle Dick ; and, at the sound of his voice, 
away broke Rolf from the two lads, sending them right and left like a couple 
of ninepins, and, bounding forward, lame leg and all, had got his faithful 
head, in another moment, pressed against his master's side, and was wag- 
ging his tail — which was as thick as a fox's brush — so lustily that he 
wagged a pretty red rose, close beside him, all to pieces, and sent its petals 
in a shower over the gravel path. 

" That 's my good old dog ! " said Uncle Dick, and stroked his favorite's 
shaggy back, and pulled his long black ears, and shook the paw that (quite 
in defiance of the rules of common society) Rolf kept solemnly presenting 
for his acceptance at least a dozen times over. 

"He has been going on with such fun, — licking our faces, and putting 
his arms on our shoulders ; and he rolled Tommy right over on the grass," 
said Will, the elder of the two boys. " Tommy tried to. get on his back, 
and he did n't like it, and tumbled him off." 

" Of course, he did n't like it," said Uncle Dick. " You would n't like to 
have anybody get on your back if you were lame of one leg ; at least I know 
/ should n't ; I 'd tumble him off fast enough. Tommy may do anything 
else he likes, but he must n't try to make Rolf carry him, — must he, old 
Rolf ? " said Uncle Dick, in his tender voice. On which inquiry Rolf gave 
such a loud, decided, instant " Bow-wow ! " that it was quite clear he agreed 
with his master entirely, and had, indeed, the very strongest possible feeling 
on the subject " Bow-wow ! " said Rolf, in his very deepest tones ; and he 
said it so explosively, and with such an unnecessary amount of energy, that 
both the boys burst out laughing ; whereupon Rolf wagged his tail again, 
quite delighted, and wrinkled up his nose and laughed too ; for Rolf was a 
vain old fellow, and liked to be noticed, and listened to, and made much of, 
just as you or I might 

The two boys and Uncle Dick began to walk round the garden, and Rolf; 
who was a very well taught dog, set himself to follow them with great pro- 
priety, whisking his tail about, indeed, rather more than was necessary as 
he went, but quite unconscious that he was doing any harm by that (though, 
to tell the truth, he was, for every now and then he whisked a flower right 
off its stalk, or upset a flower-pot, or did some other equally improper thing 
with that fine black brush of his) ; and presently they came to a summer- 
house, where, as it was very hot, Uncle Dick was glad to sit down, and 
where Rolf (knowing quite well that the right place for him was with his 
master, wherever that might be) made a decided stand too, and — only wait- 
ing long enough to make sure that Uncle Dick's pipe was alight, and that 
he was likely to sit still for a comfortable quarter of an hour — stretched 
himself out at full length on the ground, and laid down his head upon his 



1873] Rolfs Leap. 345 

paws, and gave a sigh, and shut his gentle old eyes. And then Uncle Dick 
smoked under the vine-leaves, and Will and Tommy played in the sunshine 
till they got all ablaze with heat 

They came to take shelter at last in the arbor too, just as Uncle Dick was 
knocking the ashes out of his pipe. 

" You 've got fine red cheeks, boys," said Uncle Dick, " and two pairs of 
sturdy legs. Rolf and I would like to be able to jump about like you, — but 
our jumping days are over. Not but that Rolf took a finer leap once than 
either of you lads have ever done yet," said Uncle Dick, after a moment or 
two, and stooped down to pat his favorite's great head. "A noble leap, 
was n't it, my old dog ? " he said ; and Rolf looked up with his gentle eyes, 
and, being too sleepy to say much, but yet, no doubt, understanding the 
question quite well, just gave a little assenting flap with his tail, as if to 
reply, " Ay, ay, master, it was n't so bad a leap, as leaps go," and then com- 
posed himself to sleep again, as if it was such an old story that he could n't 
trouble himself to wake up and think about it 

The boys had sat down to rest ; and so Will said, " Tell us what sort of a 
leap Rolf took, Uncle Dick." 

" If you '11 keep your feet Still, then, I '11 tell you," said Uncle Dick ; and 
accordingly, after two or three moments, when Tommy had stopped rasping 
the gravel under his boots, he told this story to them : — 

u We were both of us younger than we are now," he said, u when Rolf 
and I first came together. Rolf was a puppy, for his part, and I rather 
think I was a puppy too. At any rate, I had fifteen fewer years upon my 
shoulders than I have to-day, and fifteen years' less wisdom. (Always grow 
wiser every year as you grow older, boys, and you will come in time to be as 
wise as — Uncle Dick.) It was just when I was going out to Africa that some 
one gave Rolf to me. ' He comes of a fine stock, and if he proves as good 
a dog as his father, you won't part with him at the end of a year for a trifle,' 
my friend said ; and I soon found that he was right, for I tell you, boys, by 
the year's end I would n't have parted with him, not if I had parted with my 
last shilling, and I 'd been asked to sell him for a thousand pounds. I 'd 
sooner have sold myself, if I must have sold one or the other of us. 

" Ah, you 're laughing, I see. You think I 'm speaking in fun ? Not a bit 
of it ! Listen to my story, and when I get to the end of it you shall laugh, 
if you like. 

" I went out with my regiment to Africa, to the Cape of Good Hope, and 
before I had been there for six months I fell ill with fever, and had it so 
badly that I thought — and others besides me thought, too — that I should 
never see old England again ; and I don't believe I ever should if I had n't 
had the kindest black servant to nurse me, — the best nurse a man ever had, 
— and this poor old fellow here to help to keep up my spirits, and to show me 
that, at any rate, there was one creature in the world who could n't afford to 
let me die. Poor Rolf ! Why, boys, if he had been a Christian he could n't 
have done more for me all the time that I was ill. Night or day he never 
left my room. They couldn't get the faithful beast away. I knew little 



34$ Rolfs Leaf. [June, 

enough about his being near me, part of the time, but that made no difference 
to him ; he stuck by me all the same, and when I began to get better, and to 
know him and notice him again, — well," said Uncle Dick, abruptly, " I think 
it was a thing to touch a man's heart if he had any heart in him. Upon my 
word, boys, I did n't believe there had been anything alive that would be so 
glad to see me living as Rolf was. When he threw himself upon me the 
first time I called him by his name and held out my hand to him, you would 
think me an old fool if I were to tell you what the sight of his joy made me 
do. I was very weak, remember ; I was just as weak at that time as a child, 
you know. 

" Well, I got all right again after a while ; and let me tell you, in passing, 
that, after this one illness, I never had better health in my life than during 
the rest of the time I spent in Africa. I stayed there for four years, and they 
were as happy years, on the whole, as I ever spent anywhere. I saw a great 
number of new things in the course of them, and I made a great number of 
very kind friends. We were n't very hard worked out there, and many a 
pleasant expedition did I have of a few days up country or along the coast, 
sometimes with a companion, sometimes alone, with only my horse and old 
Rolf. I shall never forget some of those little excursions. I shall never, at 
any rate, forget one of them, for it was in the course of one of them" that Rolf 
took his leap. 

" I had been riding for five or six miles one pleasant afternoon. It was 
a delicious afternoon, like the afternoon of an English summer day. You 
always imagine it hotter out in Africa by a good deal than it is in England, 
don't you ? Well, so it is, in a general way, a vast deal hotter ; but every 
now and then, after the rains have fallen and the wind comes blowing from 
the sea, we get a day as much like one of our own best summer days as you 
ever felt anywhere. This afternoon was just like an English summer after- 
noon, with the fresh, sweet breeze rustling amongst the green leaves, and 
the great bright sea stretching out all blue and golden, and meeting the 
blue sky miles and miles away. 

"It was n't very hot, but it was just hot enough to make the thought of a 
swim delicious ; so after I had been riding leisurely along for some little time, 
shooting a bird or two as I went, — for I wanted some bright feathers to send 
home to a little cousin that I had in England, — I alighted from my horse, 
and, letting him loose to graze, lay down for a quarter of an hour to cool 
myself, and then began to make ready for my plunge. 

" I was standing on a little ledge of clifi^ some six or seven feet above the 
sea. It was high tide, and the water at my feet was about a fathom deep. 
' I shall have a delightful swim,' I thought to myself, as I threw off my coat ; 
and as just at that moment Rolf in a very excited way flung himself upon me, 
evidently understanding the meaning of the proceeding, and, as I thought, 
anxious to show his sympathy with it, I repeated the remark aloud. 'Yes, 
we 'U have a delightful swim, you and I together,' I said. * A grand swim, 
my old lad ' ; and I clapped his back as I spoke, and encouraged him, as I 
was in the habit of doing, to express his feelings without reserve. But, 



1873.] Rolfs Leap. 347 

rather to my surprise, instead of wagging his tail, and wrinkling his nose, 
and performing any of his usual antics, the creature only lifted up his face 
and began to whine. He had lain, for the quarter of an hour while I bad 
been resting, at the edge of the little cliff, with his head dropped over it ; 
but whether he had been taking a sleep in that position, or had been amus- 
ing himself by watching the waves, was more than I knew. He was a capi- 
tal one for sleeping even then, and generally made a point of snatching a 
doze at every convenient opportunity ; so I had naturally troubled my head 
very little about him, taking it for granted that he was at his usual occupa- 
tion. But, whether he had been asleep before or not, at any rate he was 
wide awake now, and, as it seemed to me, in a very odd humor indeed. 

Ui What's the matter, old fellow?' I said to him, when he set up this 
dismal howl. * Don't you want to have a swim ? Well, you need n't unless 
you like, only / mean to have one ; so down with you, and let me get my 
clothes off.' But, instead of getting down, the creature began to conduct 
himself in the most incomprehensible way, first seizing me by the trousers 
with his teeth, and pulling me to the edge of the rock, as if he wanted me to 
plunge in dressed as I was ; then catching me again and dragging me back, 
much as though I was a big rat that he was trying to worry ; and this pan- 
tomime, I declare, he went through three separate times, barking and whining 
all the while, till I began to think be was going out of his mind. 

M Well, God forgive me ! but at last I got into a passion with the beast 
I could n't conceive what he meant For two or three minutes I tried to 
pacify him, and as long as I took no more steps to get my clothes off he 
was willing to be pacified ; but the instant I fell to undressing myself again 
he was on me once more, pulling me this way and that, hanging on my arms, 
slobbering over me, howling with his mouth up in the air. And so at last I 
lost my temper, and I snatched up my gun and struck him with the butt-end 
of it My poor Rolf! " said Uncle Dick, all at once, with a falter in his 
voice ; and he stopped abruptly, and stooped down and laid his hand on the 
great black head. 

" He was quieter after I had struck him," said Uncle Dick, after a little 
pause. " For a few moments he lay quite still at my feet, and I had begun 
to think that his crazy fit was over, and that he was going to give me no 
more trouble, when all at once, just as I had got ready to jump into the 
water, the creature sprang to his feet and flung himself upon me again. He 
threw himself with all his might upon my breast and drove me backwards, 
howling so wildly that many a time since, boys, I have thought I must have 
been no better than a blind, perverse fool, not to have guessed what the 
trouble was ; but the fact is, I was a conceited young fellow (as most young 
fellows are), and because I imagined the poor beast was trying for some 
reason of his own to get his own way, I thought it was my business to teach 
him that he was not to get his own way, but that I was to get mine ; and so 
I beat him down somehow, — I don't like to think of it now ; I struck him 
again three or four times with the end of my gun, till at last I got myself 
freed from him. 



348 Rolfs Leap. [June, 

" He gave a cry when be fell back. I call it a cry, for it was more like 
something human than a dog's howl, — something so wild and pathetic 
that, angry as I was, it startled me, and I almost think, if time enough had 
been given me, I would have made some last attempt then to understand 
what the creature meant ; but I had no time after that I was standing a 
few feet in from the water, and as soon as I had shaken him off he went to 
the edge of the bit of cliff, and stood there for a moment till I came up to 
him, and then — just as in another second I should have jumped into the sea 
— my brave dog, my noble dog, gave one last whine and one look into my 
face, and took the leap before me. And then, boys, in another instant I saw 
what he had meant He had scarcely touched the water when I saw a 
crocodile slip like lightning from a sunny ledge of the dh% and gripe him by 
the hinder legs. 

" You know that I had my gun close at hand, and in the whole course of 
my life I never was so glad to have my gun beside me. It was loaded, too, 
and a revolver. I caught it up, and fired into the water. I fired three 
times, and two of the shots went into the brute's head. One missed him, 
and the first seemed not to harm him much, but the third hit him in some 
vital place, I hope, — some sensitive place, at any rate, for the hideous jaws 
started wide. Then, with my gun in my hand still, I began with all my 
might to shout out, ' Rolf ! ' I could n't leave my post, for the brute, though 
he had let Rolf go, and had dived for a moment, might make another spring, 
and I did n't dare to take my eyes off the spot where he had gone down ; but 
I called to my wounded beast with all my might, and when he had struggled 
through the water and gained a moment's hold of the rock, I jumped down 
and caught him, and somehow — I don't know how — half carried and half 
dragged him up the little bit of steep ascent, till we were safe on the top,— 
on the dry land again. And then, — upon my word, I don't know what I did 
next, only I think, as I looked at my darling's poor crushed limbs, with the 
blood oozing from them, and heard his choking gasps for breath — I — I for* 
got for a moment or two that I was a man at all, and burst out crying like a 
child. 

'" Boys, you don't know what it is to feel that a living creature has tried 
to give up his life for you, even though the creature is only a soulless dog. 
Do you think I had another friend in the world who would have done what 
Rolf had done for me ? If I had, I did not know it And then when I 
thought that it was while he had been trying to save my life that I had 
taken up my gun and struck him ! There are some things, my lads, that a 
man does without meaning any harm by them, which yet, when he sees 
them by the light of after events, he can never bear to look back upon 
without a sort of agony ; and those blows I gave to Rolf are of that sort 
He forgave them, — my noble dog ; but I have never forgiven myself for 
them to this hour. When I saw him lying before me, with his blood trick- 
ling out upon the sand, I think I would have given my right hand to save 
his life. And well I might, too, for he had done ten times more than that 
to save mine. 



1 873] Raffs Leap. 349 

" He licked the tears off my cheeks, my poor old fellow ; I remember that 
We looked a strange pair, I dare say, as we lay on the ground together, with 
our heads side by side. It 's a noble old head still, is n't it, boys ? (I don't 
mean mine, but this big one down here. All right, Rolf! We're only talk- 
ing of your beauty, my lad.) It 's as grand a head as ever a dog had. I bad 
his picture taken after I came home. I 've had him painted more than once, 
but somehow I don't think the painters have ever seen quite into the bottom 
of his heart At least, I fancy that if I were a painter I could make some- 
thing better of him than any of them have done yet. Perhaps it 's only a 
notion of mine, but, to tell the truth, I 've only a dozen times or so in my 
life seen a painting of a grand dog that looks quite right. But I 'm wander- 
ing from my story, though, indeed, my story is almost at an end 

" When I had come to my senses a little, I had to try to get my poor 
Rolf moved. We were a long way from any house, and the creature 
could n't walk a step. I tore up my shirt, and bound his wounds as well as 
I could, and then J got my clothes on, and called to my horse, and in some 
way, as gently as I could, — though it was no easy thing to do it, — I got him 
and myself together upon the horse's back, and we began our ride. There 
was a village about four or five miles off, and I made for that. It was a long, 
hard jolt for a poor fellow with both his hind-legs broken, but he bore it as 
patiently as if he had been a Christian. I never spoke to him but, panting 
as he was, he was ready to lick my hands and look lovingly up into my face. 

I 've wondered since, many a time, what he could have thought about it all ; 
and the only thing I am sure of is that he never thought much of the thing 
that he himself had done. That seemed, I know, all natural and simple to 
him ; I don't believe that he has ever understood to this day what anybody 
wondered at in it, or made a hero of him for. For the noblest people are 
the people who are noble without knowing it ; and the same rule, I fancy, 
holds good, too, for dogs. 

" I got him to a resting-place at last, after a weary ride, and then I had 
his wounds dressed ; but it was weeks before he could stand upon his feet 
again, and when at last he began to walk he limped, and he has gone on 
limping ever since. The bone of one leg was so crushed that it could n't 
be set properly, and so that limb is shorter than the other three. He does 
n't mind it much, I dare say, — I don't think he ever did, — but it has been a 
pathetic lameness to me, boys. It 's all an old story now, you know," said 
Uncle Dick, abruptly, " but it 's one of those things that a man does n't for- 
get, and that it would be a shame to him if he ever could forget as long as 
his life lasts." 

Uncle Dick stooped down again as he ceased to speak, and Rolf, dis- 
turbed by the silence, raised his head to look about him. As his master 

I I ad said, it was a grand old head still, though the eyes were growing dim 
now with age. Uncle Dick laid his hand upon it, and the bushy tail began 
to wag. It had wagged at the touch of that hand for many a long day. 

" We 've been together for fifteen years. He 's getting old now," said 
Uncle Dick. 

Georgiana M. Craik. 



350 



Froggie and his Friends. 



[June, 



FROGGIE AND HIS FRIENDS. 




FROGGIE was a dandy; — 
" I and the sun, you sec, 
Rise early in the morning ; — 
Good morning, Sun ! " says he. 




Froggie went a bathing, 
The barber made him shine ; 



i*73] 



Froggie and his Friends. 

His mother washed his clothes out, 
And hung them on the line. 



351 




Froggie went a wooing ; — 
"O lady fair," said he, 

" Take, take this pretty posy ! 
And, O lady fair, take me ! " 




Froggie gave a concert 

In a moonlit place ; 
The little frogs sang treble, 

And the old frogs sang the bass. 



352 



Froggie and his Friends. 



(June, 




Froggie was a master; 

He kept the village school, 
And taught the little froggies 

To dive into the pooL 




Two little frogs played truant ; * 
They went to have some fun ; 

Along came Craney Longlegs, 
And then there was but one! 



I873-] 



Froggie and his Friends. 



353 



- f 




When good little frogs have supper, 

He will cry and pout; 
Says Mamma Frog, "You were naughty, 

And you must go without" 




With a mushroom for a table, 
And butterflies for tea, 

If I were only a frog, now, 
How happy I should be! 

VOL. IX. — NO. VL 23 



354 The Screw Propeller and its Discoverer. (June, 



THE SCREW PROPELLER AND ITS DISCOVERER. 

IT was in 1846. I had crossed the Atlantic in the " Washington." She 
was a paddle-wheel steamer, as all steam-vessels were at that day. The 
great objection to these ships was that they could not be used as line-of-bat- 
tle ships, because the side-wheels were exposed to shot and shelL More 
than that, they could not carry a full battery of guns, and, come what will, 
ships-of-the-line must carry broadsides. A paddle-wheel steamer might 
have a few long pivot-guns fore and aft, useful enough for long ranges and 
for bringing to a rapid sailing vessel, but entirely unfitted for action at close 
quarters. In fact, it had been pretty much settled by officers in every navy 
of the world, that, without some substitute for the paddle-wheel man-of-war, 
it could only be employed in carrying despatches or towing other ships in 
or out of action. Ingenious men were, indeed, racking their brains for 
some new propeller, but everybody doubted their success. 

There lived at that time a Middlesex gentleman, by occupation a farmer, 
yet, curiously enough, endued with great liking for things that do not concern 
formers at all. Instead of filling his house and farm-yard with models of 
ploughs, reapers, and threshing-machines, his whole mind was bent upon 
ship-building, and especially on the application of screws as propellers for 
steamers. He would sit in his office, with a tub of water before him, a 
model of a boat by his side, and a corkscrew in his hand, boring the water 
for hours. Sometimes he would stop, take up the boat, look it over, under, 
and lengthways ; then throw it down again, and take to boring the water 
with the corkscrew. Neighbors, touching forefinger to forehead signifi- 
cantly, said, as they saw him boring at the water, " At any rate, there 's a 
screw loose there" But the inventor paid them no heed ; went on accumu- 
lating long screws and short screws, screws with sharp threads and screws 
with flat threads, screws on spindles and screws on wheels, and, increasing 
his boat models, furnished at length each with a working screw. 

Some time in June, 1846, I went upon invitation down to this gentleman's 
house. His name was Francis Pettit Smith* He showed me his sdrew 
models. By this time he was getting to be known on both sides of the 
Atlantic, having taken out several patents, and I was greatly interested in 
his inventions. 

First in order came No. 1, a clumsy boat, filled with clock-work, and 
having attached a screw running the whole length of the keel. Winding up 
the machinery, he placed her on a large vat of water, through which she cut 
her way superbly. " But she won't do," he said ; " you can't fill a ship's 
hold with wheels." 

Then came No. 2, a fair boat, well made, trim, still too full of wheels, and 
with two screws, one on each side, " which," says the inventor, " will never 

• Mr. Smith wis not the first inventor who tried to propel vessels through the water by means of a 
screw at the stern ; but he was the first who succeeded in the attempt — Editors. 



1873] The Screw Propeller and its Discoverer. 355 

answer." No. 3 was a little boat with a long corkscrew poking out behind, 
where the rudder ought to be ; the screw spinning round and round and 
pushing the little craft on by means of this self-same spinning motion. In 
spite of the awkward screw, sticking far out behind, No. 3 was evidently the 
pet of Mr. Smith. 
" I have great hopes of that fellow," he remarked. " He is my man. 1 .' 
" But," I said, " if that notion is ever brought to bear, — if ever the screw 
be made to take the place of the paddle-wheel, and if the screw is to be 
fixed behind, pray, where will you put your rudder ? " 

"That is rather a poser," he replied, looking grave and scratching his 
ear ; " but I hope to be able to make the length of that screw so short that 
it shall be far less inconvenient Perhaps I shall be able to shorten it 
enough to fit it in between the dead-wood " (the after-run of a vessel) " and 
the rudder." 

" Then, in diminishing the length of the screw, do you think that you 
diminish its propulsive force ? " 

"Of course I do. Does any one doubt thatt" asked the inventor, 
sharply. 

M Perhaps not And you diminish the propulsive power proportionately 
to the length of the screw cut off? " 

" Well," replied Mr. Smith, "we must wait and see. That remains to be 
proved." 

Now, there is not an intelligent boy of fourteen who does not know that 
the propulsive power of a screw is not in proportion to its length. A 
short has precisely as much power as a long screw. It has more. There 
is less friction to overcome. But nobody knew this twenty-six years ago ; 
and our Francis Pettit Smith, who grew to be one of the most famous men 
in England, to whom parliament granted a great pension, and for whom the 
scientific British workers made up a purse of many thousand pounds, — a 
mathematician and mechanic combined, whose head was clear as a bell, — 
even he went on, cutting his screw propellers shorter and shorter, fearing 
all the while that he was diminishing their propulsive power. It was not 
until after many weeks that he got at the truth. Piece after piece came oflj 
and yet the speed of the model boat was not diminished. Finally he had 
shortened the screw to a helix of two turns, was afraid to reduce it more, 
put it on to a boat on Paddington Canal, and started her. She went 
superbly. He was delighted. Admiralty officers looked on with wonder. 
Two turns of a screw propelling a boat eight miles an hour ! It was a 
marvel 

But accidents will happen ; and one must needs happen at this auspicious 
moment of our friend's success. Some boys rolled a large rock down 
the sides of the canal The little boat was just passing. It grazed upon 
the rock ; there came a crash ; the frail thing stopped, trembled, threw off one 
helical turn of her screw, which immediately washed ashore, started again, 
and went on with greater speed \.o the end of her course. She sailed all the 
better. There was no doubt of it Mechanics understand now why this 



356 Robbies Chickens. [June, 

was. Nobody, least of all the great inventor, understood then. But, ever 
since, the problem of attaching a screw to a ship's stern has been as simple 
as making a poplar whistle or a paper kite. The screw fits into the merest 
slit of the thousands of steamers now thus propelled, and there is space 
quite enough for it in every one, no matter how squat and chunk the keel 
between the dead-wood and the rudder. 

If that old Syracuse mechanic, Archimedes, 
could see the curtailed screw in the after-run of 
a steamer, would he understand it? I doubt 
In fact, it is not a screw at all, but a mere fiat 
vane. More than anything else, it is like the tail of a fish, cut short o% 
twisted a little in opposite directions, and mounted on a spindle. 

iV. S. Dodge. 




ROBBIE'S CHICKENS. 

ROBBIE had two chickens. Little round fuzzy balls they were, with 
bright black eyes and pink toes. They did n't live out in a cold coop 
in the yard, — no, indeed ! They lived in a cosey box in a warm corner of the 
kitchen, and slept in a basket filled with cotton. 

They were not common chickens, scratching around in the dirt, and eat- 
ing bugs and such things off the ground ;. on the contrary, they took their 
food from a dish, — like other people who live in houses, — and drank out of 
one of Robbie's mugs. 

They were odd little fellows, altogether. You see, they had the misfor- 
tune to come out of their warm egg-shell houses just at the beginning of 
cold weather ; and Mrs. Morris — who brought milk to Robbie's mamma— 
tried to make them and their brothers and sisters comfortable in the barn. 
But one after another died, till only these two were left, and she brought 
them over in her pocket, and gave them to Robbie for pets. 

One was buff and the other black, and they looked very cunning, running 
around the kitchen, and pecking at the floor as if it was good to eat Rob- 
bie was perfectly delighted, but mamma did not know what to do with them. 

" I don't see where we can have them, Robbie," she said. 

" I know someping," said he, triumphantly. " I can six 'em ! put 'em in 
a box ! " 

" But, dear me ! they '11 be such a bother," said mamma. 

" 'T won't boder," said Robbie, dancing around so full of happiness that 
mamma could n't say another word. " I can get dinner. I 'm a cooker. 
Corn and oats, — the milk-woman said so. Papa 's got a whole crowd of oats 
out to the barn. Oh ! — and water 1" and he fairly jumped up and down 
with delight 



1873-3 Robbies Chickens. 357 

These two chickens soon got to be part of the family. They ran all over 
the house as tame as kittens. It would be funny if they were not tame, for 
one or the other of them was generally in Robbie's arms. They would 
come when he called them, and eat out of his hands. 

Now, nothing can be more cunning than wee bits of chickens, but they 
won't stay chicks, you know ; they insist on growing up into hens. Robbie's 
chickens did just like their cousins who live in the poultry-yard, and by 
Christmas day they were almost hens. Droll enough it looked to see two 
bens walking around the house. 

Mamma wanted to put them out in the coop, but Robbie was horrified at 
the idea. " I could n't sink of it," he said, when mamma proposed it ; 
" they 'd be all cold." So they stayed in, and were dressed up for Christmas 
with blue ribbons tied around their necks, and had for their Christmas din- 
ner just what Robbie did, for he got papa to fill a plate for them. Though 
I can't say they ate much of it 

A few days after, Buffy got sick ; she moped around, refused to eat, and a 
great swelling came on her neck. Robbie was in great distress, and mam- 
ma sent to Mrs. Morris and borrowed a book. It was a sort of a doctor- 
book for chickens, and had a great gilt cock and hen on the cover. Mamma 
studied it, and made up her mind that Buffy was " crop bound," and must 
have an operation performed, or die. 

Now mamma was n't fond of surgical operations, — she could hardly bear 
to dig out a sliver, put there was Robbie full of grief, and the book said it 
wouldn't hurt much. So she took Buffy, and went into her room and 
locked the door. Then with a pair of sharp scissors she just snipped the- 
skin over the swelling on the chicken's neck, and, sure enough, there was 
her crop stuffed full of corn and wheat Buffy did n't seem to mind it much. 
She took out a coffee-cup full, and then put a linen rag around the neck, 
and went out to the sitting-room. " There, Robbie, I think she '11 get well 
now," she said, putting her into her little basket 

If that chicken did n't get well, it was n't for want of care, for Robbie was 
as fussy a little nurse as you ever saw. He brought her everything he 
-could think of to eat, from corn and oats to soft bread and mashed potatoes ; 
but not a speck would she touch. She just sat humped up in a corner of 
her box, and would n't move. At last a cup of fresh water tempted her, and 
she took a few sips. Robbie was watching her, and in a minute he saw the 
water run out and wet the bandage on her neck. 

" O mamma, mamma ! " he cried, rushing into the sitting-room, with 
tears streaming down his cheeks, " the water all runned out ! Buffy 's got a 
hole in her ! put some camphor on." 

" She don't want camphor on," said mamma, thinking a moment " I H 
fix her all right ; bring her here." 

Robbie took her up very carefully in his two little hands, and kissed the 
top of her head as he gave her to mamma. 

" Now go to my medicine-box and get my court-plaster," said she. 

Robbie went and got the plaster ; he knew it well enough, for he always 



358 "A Perfect Plague." [June, 

bad it on his fingers when he hurt them. Mamma cat a piece of the plaster, 
put aside the feathers, and stuck it over the little wound. 

" Don't put on that old rag," said Robbie ; " put on a hankerfish." And 
he dove deep into his little pocket and brought out a specimen. 

u Not that dirty one," said mamma ; " get a clean one." 

So Robbie ran to his drawer and took out a little clean one with a red 
border. Mamma tied it around Bufly's neck, and let her go. 

" Now, she looks 'stonishing," said Robbie. And she did look funny with 
her white collar. 

" Why, what 's the matter ? " said papa, when he came in. " Is Bufly get- 
ting to be a dandy, with a fancy necktie ? " 

" No," said Robbie, earnestly, " Bufiy got broke ; she got a bounded 
crop ; this is the doctor's shop, and mamma 's the mother of it, and she must 
have dirt and gravel." 

" Why, what does mamma want with dirt and gravel ? " said papa, soberly. 
" I did n't know she liked such things." 

" No, — BufFy," said Robbie ; " she had to be cut with the fivers, and it 
did n't hurt, and the water runned out, and she could n't eat wivout we put 
on coat-plaster ! " 

" A dreadful state of things ! " said papa. " Had n't we better send her 
to the hospital till she grows up ? " 

" No, this is the grow place," said Robbie. " She '11 get well in a mitit" 

And she did get well in a few days, if not in a minute, as Robbie thought 

Olive Thome. 



"A PERFECT PLAGUE." 

WHIZ — whew — rattle — slam — bang — clump, clump ! Everybody 
knew Fred was coming. His mother began to gaze anxiously toward 
the door, trying to imagine in what plight her boy would enter. Aunt Har- 
riet dropped her work, ready to run for rags, strings, or plasters, long expe- 
rience having taught her to be on the alert for wounds, cuts, and bruises. 
The door flew open with a jerk, and with two leaps Fred and a big basket 
landed beside a table where Lute was mounting autumn leaves. 

" See here, Lute ! " exclaimed Fred, pushing the basket on the table, hit- 
ting the varnish-bottle, which, in its turn, gave the mucilage a friendly push, 
till over they went together. 

" O Fred, you are the biggest torment I ever saw ; you spoil something 
every time you come near me ! " cried Lute, in her impatience. 

If she had seen the look that crossed Fred's happy, handsome face, she 
would have been sorry for the thoughtless words ; but she did n't look up 
The hurt, sorry look changed to a hard, defiant one as it settled in his bright 



1873.] "A Perfect Plague:' 359 

blue eyes, and he took up the basket to go oat, muttering, " I guess she '11 
know it before I go near her again 1 " 

" O dear 1 " groaned Lute, as she picked up the leaves, and wiped up the 
two little streams of mucilage and varnish that were slowly trickling 
down on the carpet, "that boy grows worse and worse! he 's a perfect 
plague ! " 

" You ought not to speak to him as you did, Lucy," said her mother, gen- 
tly. " I think Fred was sorry, but you did n't give him a chance to say so." 

"Well, what if he was sorry ? he will do something else just as bad in half 
an hour." 

" I know he 's a little rough," her mother went on, " but he does n't mean 
any harm." 

" Now, mother, how can you say so ? Only last week he threw the cat 
into the soap-barrel, and he must climb that young ash after his cap, and 
knock off my hanging-basket and break it. He could have taken a ladder, 
and not gone on the side of the tree where the basket hung. After he 
got his cap, instead of putting it on he threw it at the cat, and broke the 
handsomest dahlia in the garden. Then, last night, when Will Schofield and 
all the others were up here playing croquet; — I suppose you will think it 
was silly,— Will asked if I got my roses working in the garden. Before I 
had time to answer, Fred spoke up, and said, ' I guess she puts the roses on 
in her chamber ; that 's why she is so late to breakfast' Of course, I 
couldn't say anything, and I don't know what they all thought Then, just 
look at what he 's done now ! " and the tears trembled in Lute's eyes. 

"You 're somewhat to blame for that yourself" replied Aunt Harriet, "for 
you know I told you to spread a paper on the table-cloth and another on the 
carpet under the table. As for what he said last night, it is n't likely Will 
Schofield noticed it, or, if he did, remembered it two minutes. He '11 out- 
grow such ways by and by." 

" yes, I know you and mother always take Fred's part," sobbed Lute. 
" I guess if mother would tell father some of his tricks, he would * outgrow ' 
some of them pretty quick. But if father finds out anything it is all 
smoothed over." 

It was strange how, with a slight difference in the subject, Fred's thoughts 
were running in the same direction as Lute's. 

" She grows crosser and crosser," he muttered, digging his toes into the 
chips behind the wood-house, " and since Will Schofield comes up here, she 
don't want me round at all I s'pose I do plague her. I don't see why I 
have to upset everything before I fairly get near it" And the boy actually % 
sat with his cap over his eyes full three minutes, resolving he would be very 
careful next time. 

" Plaze, marm, can masther Frid go to the sthore fur me ? " asked Brid- 
get, putting her head in at the door, an hour later. 

" Certainly," said Mrs. RandalL 

"An' is he not back yit?" 

" Why, is n't he about the house somewhere ? " 



360 "A Perfect Plague** (June, 

" Shure, marm, an' he stharted fur Toompson's Pond wid half a dozen boys 
an hour agone, but I thought he was back afoor." 

" Thompson's Pond ? " repeated his mother, aghast " Why, his father 
has told him never to go there with the boys ! " 

" You see now just how well he obeys," said Lute, rather pleased with an 
opportunity to show her superiority in reading Fred's character. 

" O marm," cried Bridget, putting her head in again, " shure, there 's a 
man here as says the boys is all kilt, and masther Fred drowndid wid both 
his legs broke, fallin' out a tree ! " 

O dear ! how still the house was ! Father and mother gone to find Fred, 
and Lute left with Aunt Harriet and Bridget, to get ready for their coming 
home. What kind of a coming home would it be ? They did n't dare think. 
Tommy Witham, a sort of Job's comforter, came in, and followed Lute as she 
went restlessly about the house trying to do something. In one corner of 
the hall lay the big basket that had made so much trouble, but somehow 
Lute wanted it now. As she lifted it up, the cover slipped one side, and two 
or three bright leaves fell out. The basket. was full. 

" Yes," said Tommy, who found the silence very oppressive, " me and 
Fred 's been away over to Brickett's woods this afternoon to get them for you. 
I should ha' thought he 'd ha' been too tired to go off again. I 'm 'bout used 
up." A manly expression Tommy was fond of using. 

" And he was going to give them to me when I drove him offj" thought 
Lute, with a sharp pang. " What a wicked thing I am ! Why don't they 
come ? He must be — " No, she could n't bring herself to speak the word ; 
and, catching up Fred's geography, she turned the leaves from sheer neces- 
sity of doing something. 

On the fly-leaf was " Freddie Randall," in her father's writing. She 
remembered when he wrote it ; they had all said it was hard to tell which 
was prouder, — Fred of the new book, or the father that his only son had 
advanced a step in learning. Would he ever write his boy's name again ? 
Then there was the boy's scrawl, and here the name again in Old 
English type, and on another leaf strange-looking birds with banners in 
their beaks, bearing that name so precious now. And now his favorite pic- 
ture of a prancing horse. How hard he worked over that with dirty fingers, 
head on one side, and tongue stuck hard into his cheek, — and how Lute 
had scolded because he abused his books so ! She would have been glad at 
that minute to see him drawing in Tennyson's poems, a present from Will 
Schofield last birthday. He had taken two or three of her paints to color 
the illustrations in the book. Here the Falls of Niagara were painted a 
bright red with a dark green sky overhead. A party of negroes in very 
blue shirts were cutting yellow sugar-cane ; and in a picture of the arctic 
regions, a ship was frozen among straw-colored and scarlet icebergs, while 
orange and vermilion Northern Lights streamed over the scene. Out from 
the leaves fluttered a bit of paper, upon which Tommy again vouchsafed 
information. 



I8/3-] "A Perfect Plague." 361 

"Fred writ that right in — the teacher had company — her feller, I 
guess," he added, by way of explanation. " He was going to put it in the 
post-office, but had to get an envelope first Read it" And Tommy glowed 
with pride at Fred's skill. " I give him the paper," he added, swelling with 
generosity. 

The paper looked as if it had been cut with a dull knife from the back of 
an old letter ; and Lute read, — 

" Mr. Skofield I do not want you to think what I sed about my sister was 
tru I toled it to plage hir she get up before I do she is the best girl in the 
world and I gess you think so two I rote this becaws I do not want what 
I sed too be a ly Fred Randall." 

" Teacher thought he was writin' in his writin'-book all the time," snick- 
ered Tommy, but Lute did n't hear. 

It was very still now. The early twilight had Men, and it was almost 
dark, but nobody had thought of lamps. Aunt Harriet was slowly rocking 
to and fro ; Lute, having cried herself so sick that she could cry no more, 
lay on the sofa, trying hard not to think ; Tommy was stretched beside her 
on the floor ; and Bridget, with her apron over her head, was rocking back 
and forth on the kitchen floor, moaning for the " two eyes that werr the 
light of the house." Was that the street door ? It shut with a slam. Gus 
Robbins, probably. Why could n't people stay away just now ! Somebody 
tumbled on the stairs. How much that sounded like Fred ! If we could 
only hear him tumble up stairs again — 

" Why, what are you all in the dark for ? " Everybody jumped. There 
was no mistake this time, for this was nobody but Fred. 

In answer to Aunt Harriet's and Lute's questions and Tommy's open- 
mouthed wonder, he only said, " O, Bridget is so stupid ! We went up on 
Thompson's hill after beech-nuts, and Rufe Douglass did fall out of a tree 
and break his arm. When father and mother found me all right, they 
thought they 'd go round by Uncle Job's. Father told me to come and tell 
you, but I wanted to go round by Lin Foye's and see if his doves had any 
squabs yet, so I did n't get along very quick. Been to supper ? I 'm 'bout 
starved." 

Supper! Who had thought of supper? — and going after squabs when 
they were suffering so ! They didn't know whether to give him all the pre- 
serves he could eat, for joy that he was safe, or send him to bed without a 
mouthful, they were so vexed at his not getting " along very quick." 

But I rather think joy triumphed, for it was reported Fred had said at 
school it was " first-rate to have folks think you were drowned, it made 'em 
awful clever to a feller" ; and about a week after, as Bridget was scolding 
because Fred had left mud-tracks on the clean floor, when he had been told 
so many times to wipe his feet, Lute wiped up the mud herself, and said, 
" You can't expect a boy to remember everything, Bridget" 

Annie M. Ldbty. 



362 The Rabin's Protest. [June, 



THE ROBIN'S PROTEST. 

"AS idle as the birds," you say. 

*V Ah, much you know about it! 
We're busy all the livelong day; 

We can't get on without it 
"It isn't much to build a nest?" 

Well, then, suppose you try it 
Just work a week, and do your best, — 

There 'd not a bird come nigh it ! 

You don't know where to find nice things, 

Nor how to weave them nicely, 
And fix the sticks and straw